Captain Bitch
by Elenimou
Summary: Tank finds his long-lost love who in turn helps to solve a mystery that could destroy Rangeman and Carlos Manoso.
1. Chapter 1

**Captain Bitch**

Tank's long ago broken heart is mended.

0-0

 **Prologue**

Stephanie leaned back onto Ranger's chest. He inhaled her body scent and the shampoo scent in her long curly hair. With his arms wrapped around her shoulders he whispered, "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine."

They sat in a grassy meadow outside Ranger's mountain cabin. The day's colors were begging for one last notice before the night overtook them. Yellow and white wildflowers intermingled with the grasses. Light reflected off the pinkish evening primroses causing them to twinkle in the waning light. Crimson red, pink, golds, and purple colored the sky above. The mountains were cloaked in deep shadows.

Warm winds blew up from the valley below, encouraging the tall Ponderosa pines to sway and sing their haunting hymns. Temperatures would drop soon, but right now everything was perfect.

Stephanie heard the rustle on the cabin's porch. She glanced up and saw Tank settle into a rough, wooden chair. The wood squeaked under his massively muscled, 6'6" frame. A beer bottle in his hand was still dripping moisture. Leaning back, he placed his left foot onto the porch rail while his eyes were distant, as if his mind was seeing something far away.

Stephanie whispered in Ranger's ear, "Was Tank ever in love?"

Ranger glanced up at Tank and then nodded, "Yes, and I don't mean that time with Lula."

"Can you talk about it?"

"She was more like a ghost. Brief appearance, he fell totally for her and then she was gone. He didn't even get her name."

"That wasn't love, it was infatuation at most."

"I don't know. It was the way I felt the day you walked into the diner years ago. I think I knew even then, you were the one for me. But I was too wrapped up in myself, my missions and starting Rangeman to think about commitments and relationships."

"You think Tank had such a moment but lost it?"

"The way he moped around it sure seemed like love. Every so often I see him look like he does now, staring off into space. I once asked him where his thoughts were. He said, "With her."

"Is that why he doesn't date or have a girlfriend?"

"Lula was OK for a while; it was sex and fun, but without love."

"He's got such a kind soul, but he rarely laughs. Has he always been that way?"

"No, in basic training he was good-humored, always joking with others. I thought it was our time in combat that turned him, but now think it goes back to one afternoon, years ago."

"Broken heart?"

"Lost love, broken heart, I'm not sure there's a name that would apply."

They sat and watched the sky darken. Ranger's cell phone hummed indicating a text, "El Cam 0900, Silvio." Ranger typed an acknowledgment and once again wrapped his arms around Stephanie.

 **Philippines Years Before Captain Bitch POV**

The Hummer rumbled down the two-lane road. Most streets in Maulong, Catbalogan City, Samar Island were one lane with no sidewalks. This was as close to a boulevard as one would find in this Philippine town. The camp was new and right now held troops from the Philippine Army, US Army and Australian Special Forces.

"Captain Christo-whatever, what the hell are our guys doing in an Aussie bar?" Rodriguez asked as he adjusted his MP helmet.

"The name is Christofondodoulous, Sergeant Rodriguez," I shot back. "Just take a big breath and go 'Christo-fondo-doulous."

He tried again, "Christo-fondo-dolos."

"Better stick to Captain VC," I chuckled.

"Yes, ma'am. That I can do. Thank you."

"Now what was your question, Sergeant?"

"What the hell are our guys doing in an Aussie bar?"

"Probably drunk and looking for trouble," Sergeant Ron Peterson answered as he swung the big HumVee around the tight corner.

I sat in the back, remaining quiet. I was here to observe only, having been assigned here three weeks ago. The men were wary of the new female MP Officer. We were rare.

As we pulled in near the bar, we noted the other vehicles. "Looks like the Aussie MPs are here already."

"This is going to be a fuck-up for sure." Then remembering me in the back seat, Rodriguez uttered, "Sorry, ma'am."

"It's OK, Sergeant. I've heard and said worse. I'm here to observe, not judge your language or pronunciation skills."

Guarding the front door were two Aussie MPs. We nodded to one another. This was nothing new: young men, egos, and alcohol. Once inside the establishment, we noted the bar ran along the left wall. The Filipino man behind it was anxious to end this standoff so he could go back to selling beer. Four other Aussie MPs had their marines confined to the rear of the bar away from our dumb shits. Six US Army soldiers were clustered around two tables on the right side not far from the front door. Their body language ranged from nearly passed-out drunk to tightly coiled, looking for a fight.

Silvio Rodriguez uttered, "Shit, they are Rangers."

Peterson was already calling for back up. I wished we had a battalion to call in, but US Army presence in this part of the Philippines was "under the radar." It meant we really weren't there, just training at the Philippine military base. In reality, we had forces being trained to jump to hotspots throughout Southeast Asia.

Silvio nodded to the Aussie MPs in the back of the room. It was a silent acknowledgment and thanks for isolating our wayward ones. Turning to our men, Sergeant Rodriguez began, "Men, this is an Australian bar. You are out of bounds. You will have to leave immediately."

"We haven't finished our beers," one remarked.

"Chug it men, and let's go. Now," Sergeant Ron Peterson answered.

As the Sergeants continued to engage the six, I was sizing up each Ranger. Elite soldiers all, but I decided only two were exceptionally dangerous. Sergeant Pierre Sherman was a well-known hand-to-hand combat specialist. I had watched his training and was impressed with his strength and skills. He also moved well for such a large man.

He in turn was watching me. A 6'2" tall, biracial, female MP Captain is an oddity. Perhaps to him, I was the Army version of a pink elephant in an alcohol-fueled nightmare.

The other soldier was the lieutenant who should have known better than to bring his men into this bar. His dark, Latino looks gave him an edgy appearance, but it was his eyes that I most watched. He knew he was the best soldier here, maybe better than Sherman. I couldn't read his name ribbon. It didn't matter.

Peterson and Rodriguez had several more interactions with the squad when the blond on the left, stood up and said, "Maybe the bitch in the back would like to order us to leave."

I stepped forward, "That's Captain Bitch to you."

 **Chapter 1 Jornada del Muerto Captain Bitch POV**

My trip began in darkness across the southern portion of the Jornada del Muerto, journey of the dead man. One hundred miles of barren, waterless southern New Mexico plain caught between two mountain ranges. The Spanish explorers and immigrants from Mexico used this route rather than staying close the mighty river as it turned west to pass through the mountains. The river route was too narrow and dangerous for wagons and livestock. While a safer route from the terrain, the immigrants were in constant danger from Apache raiding parties. Two hundred and fifty years the future immigrants using the passage still faced dangers from the Apache, this time led by Geronimo.

Today, I was not recreating the immigrants' journey north along the Jornada to the northern cities of Socorro, Albuquerque or even Santa Fe. Rather, I was driving northeast over a smaller mountain range and into the Tularosa Basin. To the east, beyond the vast basin. stood the Sacramento Mountains with 11,981' Sierra Blanca as the crowning glory. The high-powered German sports car hummed through the scrubby landscape. For centuries the Tularosa Basin was rich in grasses reaching five feet in height and artesian wells abounded as the basin had no natural water outlet. But cattlemen moved into the region in 1880s, and for the next sixty years, overgrazed the basin, destroying the top soil, depleting the water table to where the basin is now barren gypsum flats and wind-blown dunes with the spindly, small-leafed creosote bush as the major plant. The pungent, creosote scent was carried on the cool, predawn air.

The eastern sky was lightening; the sunrise would be breathtaking. Gradually, the dark sky became gold with blazing red clouds above the still dark mountains. Various reds and pinks reflected off the pure-white, gypsum sands to the west. The color show gave way to the blue morning sky. By late afternoon, the temperatures would be brutal, but now they were cool.

Entering Alamogordo was a return to man's domain. Gradually, the creosote bushes were scraped away and mobile homes were placed in the middle of the barren lots. No trees, no lawns, no other shrubs, nothing but bare dirt. If the residents were asked why they preferred the barren look, most would say something about keeping rattlesnakes away or they didn't have enough water in their cisterns or wells for superfluous landscaping.

Closer to town, leafy trees, shrubs and an occasional, frost-hardy, palm tree appeared, but even the country club golf course was not lush. It was just large enough and green enough to be considered a golf course. Mostly moderate to a few upscale homes crowded around the course so the residents could see the course's green grass and trees instead of colored gravel, cactus and yuccas that made up their home landscapes.

The town did not have high-rises except for the soaring Air and Space Museum. Most homes were one and two story, built when Alamogordo was a railroad town carrying lumber cut from the Sacramento Mountains. Today, the town of 32,000 relies on the US Government for support. Holloman Air Force Base and White Sands Missile Range are nearby. Twice a year, a tiny section of the White Sands Missile Range is open to the public, allowing visitors to stand on the Trinity Site where the first atomic bomb was tested. West of town is the White Sands National Monument with its 275 aces of pure-white, gypsum dunes for tourists, photographers, and movie companies to romp about.

Today's trip was not work related, vacation or to play tourist. Indeed, it was truly personal time that if fully investigated might get me in trouble with my employer, the US Army.

The rendezvous would be in a restaurant on the main street. The early morning breakfast rush was over. This was the second wave for ranchers who had put in several hours work, late rising tourists, and retirees. After they were fed, the mid-morning coffee break people would arrive before the lunch crowd began. The parking lot at El Camino was always full. I was fortunate to find street-side parking not far away.

I exited the small car and extended my tall frame to its full height while inhaling the aromas from the restaurant. My stomach rumbled in anticipation of another El Camino meal. By far the most popular breakfast item was Huevos Rancheros, eggs over a tortilla smothered in red or green chile sauce, sometimes both and called Christmas. Papas, chunks of fried potatoes, were served on the side, but the bacon aroma for full American breakfasts also filled the air.

When I opened the restaurant door, a slender Hispanic woman with an instant, welcoming smile exclaimed, "Colonel" as she hugged me. "It is always a pleasure to see you. We have your favorite. It has become popular as a breakfast item. We called it the "Colonel's Special."

This made me smile, "I am honored, Maria, but after all I've eaten many gallons of it over the years."

"Yes, but you started us serving it for breakfast," she laughed. "It's hard enough to sell vegetables, but who knew people would eat them for breakfast?" Her laughter and enthusiasm filled the entire restaurant. Often, El Camino's was casually referred to as Maria's Place for her hospitality.

Before Maria led me to a table, I stopped her. "Maria, I'm here to talk to the gentlemen in the back. Hopefully, they will invite me to join them. But first I need to freshen up."

"Of course, you know the way."

Instead of walking directly to the restrooms, I angled into the restaurant's center then towards the back wall. I had already scanned the room and continued scanning thanks to years of Army training. I did not stare at my target, but others stared at me. A 6'2" woman is indeed an oddity except on the basketball court. The man I needed to talk to sat at a table for six, but only five were present. A napkin and coffee cup indicated a sixth was probably in the restroom.

My objective sat with his back against the wall. He watched me approach. His eyes betrayed he thought he knew me from somewhere but couldn't put a face, name, and location together. I was not in uniform. It had been years since he had seen me through an alcohol haze. I had seen him several times since, but I was disguised. Time and experiences had added wrinkles around his dangerous eyes and his body was more muscular. His dark hair was longer now, hardly a military cut.

As I stepped to the table, he stood up out of courtesy, curiosity and military training. I stood straight and in my best commanding voice said, "Mr. Carlos Manoso?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The other three men at the table also stood, either out of good manners or military training. I knew the man at the far end was former Army. I had been briefed who else to expect. The blond with green eyes was Manoso's cousin through the maternal line. The darker-skinned man with closely shorn hair was also former military. The lone woman looked around and eventually stood, though uncertain why. Her hair was not neat like the gentlemen but rather a riotous tumble of brown curls to her shoulders. Her eyes were an amazing deep blue.

"Years ago in Billabong bar in the Philippines, you and your team knew me as Captain Bitch. Today, you may address me as Colonel Bitch" and I extended my hand to him.

Manoso's face was controlled but a variety of expressions washed through his eyes: surprise, remembrance, embarrassment, curiosity and respect. His eyes bore into me as he extended his hand, "Ma'am, I'm a bit vague on the particulars that day due to the fact you knocked my block off."

"Yes, you and your team were out of bounds, rowdy, disrespectful, and very well lubricated. One in particular was also crude and vulgar, Simpson," I said as I shook his hand. My hand was as large as his but his contained strength surpassing mine.

"Yes, ma'am," Manoso said.

"Gentlemen, I have a message for you from Silvio Rodriguez."

The name Silvio brought them into rapt attention. Silvio is Rangeman's main cybersecurity guru. Though he works out of Rangeman Miami, he oversees the digital operations in the four Rangeman cities. Last evening he texted Manoso, "Breakfast 0900 at El Cam." No doubt, Manoso expected Silvio to enter the restaurant, not someone from his Army past.

"Before I relay the message, I need to visit the facilities, down some coffee and eat. Gentlemen, orders from Silvio: Go dark, security shutdown. Now, excuse me, gentlemen, ma'am, and please be seated."

I watched as the men and lone woman lowered themselves into their chairs except for the gentleman at the end. He remained standing, staring at me not really sure what he was seeing. He was a big man or slightly taller than me. His blond hair was buzzed short, light blue eyes, with chest, shoulder and neck development better suited to an NFL lineman. When I last saw him, he was less massive; time has made him intimidating.

Everyone at the table looked at Manoso who nodded assent, "Follow the Colonel's orders." One by one, each withdrew their cell phones, turned them off and removed the SIM cards.

As I entered the restroom door, I glanced back and saw the big blond at the end of the table look at Ranger and cock an eyebrow as if to ask, 'Is it her?' Ranger nodded. The man pursed his lips together, and blew softly as he finally sat.

Lester Santos had spotted the tall, athletic woman as she entered the restaurant front door. She was unlike anything he had ever seen before. She was tall, probably over six feet, broad shouldered, tiny waist with a fine bust line in between. Her trousers were tight enough to show off her strong gluts and thighs. Her skin color was mocha, her hair short on the sides and wavy on the top. After talking to the hostess, she began walking with grace and authority towards their table. Her deep brown eyes scanned the room constantly. Immediately, Lester flashed on 'Amazon Warrior'. He could easily picture her in a very tight corset, knee-high boots, headband, with a sword in one hand and shield in another. He was getting a little tingly down below.

She had stopped next to Ranger and in a voice well suited to command, spoke firmly, "Mr. Carlos Manoso?"

She continued in a full voice, "Years ago in Billabong bar in the Philippines, you and your team knew me as Captain Bitch. Today, you may address me as Colonel Bitch."

Lester was shocked. Colonel? Perhaps he should have stayed in service if this was what command officers looked like now. Then again, now that he was out of service, he could make a play for her and not be brought up on charges of fraternization.

Lester was only half listening as she instructed everyone to go dark, security shutdown. Instead, he was more interested in getting a view of her backside as she walked towards the ladies' restroom. As beautiful as the front was, the back was even better. She could kick his ass any time.

Ranger watched his cousin lust after the Colonel. "Stow it Santos, she's already spoken for," he growled.

Lester's head swung around, "No! Who?"

Ranger shook his head. His cousin's libido was constantly in overdrive. Glancing at Bobby, he saw a similar lust. Perhaps he ought to order two pitchers of ice water and drench his two men. Life was going to get interesting in a moment anyway; he didn't need horny Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum complicating matters.

Ranger saw Tank leave the restroom and make his way back to the table.

"Tank, we have orders from Silvio; total shutdown," Ranger spoke.

"He called?" rumbled the deep bass voice as he lowered himself onto the chair.

"No, he sent a messenger and you are not going to believe who," Ranger replied.

Maria's daughter Juanita stopped by the table to refill coffee cups. "Will the Colonel be joining you?" she asked.

Ranger nodded yes. Tank overheard the question and was wondering what colonel Silvio would send. Silvio had been out of the Army for several years now. What contacts had he maintained?

Juanita apologized, "I am sorry I'm out of extra tables. Can you rearrange your seating?" She looked at the oversized men and wondered how the new addition could fit in.

Ranger nodded, "We'll manage."

As Stephanie finished snapping her cell phone back together, she whispered, "Who is this Colonel?"

Ranger looked at her and winked and quietly whispered, "Remember our discussion in the meadow last night?" Her eyes grew wide, she remembered.

Then in a louder voice so everyone at the table could hear, "After Ranger training, we were in the Philippines. A group of us went out drinking and causing trouble. We eventually ended up at an out-of-bounds Australian bar. The bartender and patrons tried to throw us out, we resisted. MPs were called. After that, it got ugly."

"And you got your block knocked off?"

"All of us did. By then, we were pretty shit-faced. We were young and thought ourselves invincible Rangers. Quickly and painfully, we learned how wrong we were, especially me," Ranger shook his head not wanting to relive the embarrassment.

"The Aussies did you in?" Lester asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

"No, just one person." Ranger noticed the Colonel had exited the restroom and talked with Juanita before slowly walking towards their table. Tank's back was to the approaching officer plus his mind was back in the Philippines. "Tank, do you remember Captain Bitch?" Ranger asked as he noted the officer neared.

The big man shot Ranger a look and muttered, "You know damn well I do."

"She's been promoted. Let me introduce you to Colonel Bitch."

Pierre suddenly swung around, jumped up and stared. For a moment he lost control of his face. He was confused. He didn't know if he should salute her, kiss her, be angry, or thankful. Instead, he just stared into her eyes and she stared back. He had waited years for this moment, even prayed for it. Slowly, she raised her hand and traced his jaw, "I hope there was no lasting damage."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _"She's been promoted. Let me introduce you to Colonel Bitch."_

Captain Bitch, now Colonel Bitch POV

0-0

Pierre's hand jumped to mine, not to pull it away, but to ascertain it was really my hand on his face. Never taking his eyes off mine, he shook his head no. We stared at each other for too long. No doubt, people in the restaurant were watching two brown-skinned giants staring at one another.

Perhaps Manoso noticed other patrons looking at us. "Colonel, please sit," Manoso invited. Someone had grabbed a spare chair and set it next to Pierre's place at the table, but he remained standing. He continued to stare, probably wondering if he was dreaming. He had not seen me since Billabong bar, a decade and more ago.

I sat down and glanced up at the still-standing man. "Sit down, handsome," I said, smiling.

His eyes betrayed he remembered me uttering those same words to him years before in the bar far away. He slowly lowered his large frame gracefully onto the chair, his eyes never leaving mine.

The curly-haired woman broke the spell, "Excuse me, ma'am, I take it you know Ranger and Tank from the Army?"

I turned away from Pierre and cocking my eyebrows upward, asked, "Ranger?" I didn't let on I already knew Carlos' nickname as well as Pierre's.

"It's the street name I picked up when I got out."

Nodding, I said, "Appropriate." Then, turning to the right I said, "You go by Tank? My name for you stuck?"

"Yes, ma'am, " he said softly.

The curly-haired woman jumped in, "You named Tank?"

"Yes, it seemed and still seems appropriate. He was big, strong, indomitable, and most lethal."

"He still is," inserted the blond. Extending his hand, "Colonel, I'm Lester Santos." His eyebrows flirted to further catch my attention.

Then the man next to him joined in, "I'm Bobby Brown."

The big blond at the end of the table remained quiet and motionless.

"Harold," I spoke softly, "I hope you aren't in the same condition I left you in all those years ago." He was quite drunk that day. I also knew he now went by the name Hal but couldn't let on, yet.

"You remember me?" He looked surprised or maybe hopeful I had forgotten him.

I smiled and added, "You've bulked up a bit like Pierre here, but you're the same handsome gentleman with those lovely, china blue eyes."

He blushed but didn't slump down. He was still a soldier, if not still in service.

The curly-haired woman smiled, "Hal, I didn't know your name was Harold. Hal fits you." Then turning to me she extended her hand, "I'm Stephanie Plum. I assume you don't want us to call you Colonel Bitch." Her eyes were dancing with excitement.

Laughing I said, "It is well suited, but I usually go by VC. It's the short form of Vassiliki Christofondodoulos.

"Yipes," said Lester, "VC is so much easier."

I smiled and nodded, "And easier to spell. One tends to get lost halfway through."

Manoso, now Ranger began, "Single-handedly, the Colonel, back then a Military Police Captain, took down six Rangers. It was a bad day for Rangers and Special Forces."

Stephanie was impressed, "Everyone? By yourself?"

"No, Harold, ah, Hal here was already hammered. He wasn't fighting that afternoon. He remained seated."

Bobby was smiling, "Go on, please." He could not imagine anyone besting Ranger or Tank.

My mind scanned its memory, Robert (Bobby) Brown, Medical Doctor, a former medic, Army Ranger joined Manoso's unit 2 years after the Philippines. "I had just been promoted to Captain and was assigned to the Philippines. We got a call about rowdy Americans at an Australian Navy bar. We weren't expecting six elite Rangers."

I paused and sipped my coffee. "I went in with Sergeants Ron Peterson and Silvio Rodriguez."

"Our Silvio?" Lester asked. Once again my mind rolled through the memory files; Lester Santos, cousin to Manoso. Also a Ranger, his specialty was human Intel collector due to his proficiency in languages but doubled as a combat engineer. He was an exceptionally intelligent, excellent leader, but cocky when he wasn't in command. From the way he looked at me, I'd have to add possible 'player'.

"Yes, your Silvio. When the Sergeants saw six Rangers they called for back-up. It was an automatic, self-preservation move."

That got a chuckle from the group.

"I was there to observe only. The Australian MPs were on site but had their hands full keeping their guys from pounding our guys into mush for trespassing. It would have been a lovely brawl: Marines versus Rangers," I sighed. "Lieutenant Manoso and his pals were itching for action, especially Simpson. Unfortunately, things got active before our back-up arrived."

"I remember it being pretty one-sided, your side," muttered Tank.

Reaching over and putting my hand on his, "It was fun, until..." I looked at him with remorse.

"Go on," said Bobby as he glanced at my hand atop Tank's. He wasn't the only one to note my touch.

"I was standing back, observing my men. Peterson and Rodriguez informed the men they were out of bounds and needed to leave immediately. The response was laughter, a good indication there would be a fracas. Then Simpson pointed to me and said, "Maybe the bitch in the back would like to order us to leave. Whereupon, I came forward and said, "That's Captain Bitch to you."

Stephanie, Lester, and Bobby chuckled. Hal blushed. Ranger shook his head as if he didn't want to be reminded. Tank continued to stare at me. I wasn't sure if he was listening or in a daze.

I continued, "Simpson unbuttoned his pants, pulled out his penis and said, 'Captain Bitch, you need to salute General Johnson."

"What did you do?" gasped Stephanie.

Waving my hand back and forth, "It wasn't the first time a soldier flashed me. It was just a boy showing off his toy. After I told him to tuck his teeny weenie back in bed, he got angry. He picked up a beer bottle, broke it and made a move towards me."

Bobby winced, "And..."

"It got fun. I kicked the table sending it into Simpson's privates, then jumped onto the table and kicked the bottle out of his hand. Next thing he knew, he was flying across the table into Peterson's arms to be cuffed. In the meantime, the second in line, Kinsley, grabbed my arm and swung me around. I saw Manoso coming after me so I side kicked him in the carotid. My aim was perfect. He went down immediately. Kinsley was getting ready to slug me. I deflected the punch, elbowed his face, and sent him off to Rodriguez. Baca wanted to fight next, but was so drunk he couldn't decide what punch to throw. While he was trying to decide, I pushed him down on the table and cuffed him and gave him to Peterson. I reached down and cuffed Manoso before he woke up. Olsen," indicating Hal, "was pretty far gone. He never stood up so I suggested he put his head on the table and sleep. That left this man." I reached over to touch Tank's hand again.

Tank was listening after all. He continued the story, "It was embarrassing. We spent months training and a lady MP blew through us like the wind. We were drunk, but I didn't think we were that far gone."

I continued, "I told Pierre I was surprised they allowed the First Cav equipment into the bar. He was confused so I explained, 'Tanks usually remain out on the road."

"That's how he got his name?" Stephanie asked.

"Apparently, though I'm surprised others didn't use it before."

"They had other names," he mumbled, "I didn't find your nickname as offensive because it came from such a pretty lady."

Others at the table raised their eyebrows at his compliment. Apparently, it was completely out of character. I blushed. I don't receive personal praise like that so I was taken aback. "Thank you, sir," was all I could say evenly, without sounding like a schoolgirl.

Returning to my story, "I gave him a chance to walk away, telling him he was drunk, too drunk to fight as I had done with Harold. He claimed he had consumed only two beers. More likely, he had consumed two at that bar, but more elsewhere. The longer he stood swaying on his feet, the more time he had to think. He went on and on about needing to uphold Army Ranger honor."

"You fought Tank?" Lester said in awe.

"I told him the Rangers' honor didn't need to be upheld and his group was just acting like jackasses. Through the alcohol haze, he remained a gentleman and still thinking, but conflicted. He didn't want to fight a woman and especially not an officer. I was an expert in hand-to-hand and told him I would gladly spar with him instead. I promised I wouldn't hit his knees as he was too valuable to the Army or his nuts as I didn't want to ruin his sex life. Also, I didn't want to hurt that pretty face." I reached up and touched his jaw again.

Lester laughed and Tank growled.

I remained facing Tank and explained, "I had previously watched you in hand-to-hand training. I knew you'd beat me so I thought by setting parameters beforehand you'd let up a bit on me. Plus, I wanted to impress on my men that I wasn't afraid of action. It was a new command for me. Mostly though, I wanted to play. I had twenty years martial arts and, of course, Army MP training. The Army knew MPs would run up against rowdy Special Forces and Rangers."

"What about Delta?" Bobby asked.

I turned my head and smirked, "They are the worst. Only silver bullets or stakes in the heart stops them." It was a gentle insult to a table of Rangers and was taken in humor.

Lester was smiling, "Please continue…"

"We traded blows, threw each other a few times. We were really just sparring, testing each other. I was having fun. It probably looked intense."

"I had a few bruises afterward," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry," I said as I squeezed his arm this time. I normally don't touch people, it is against my code and Army regulations, but this was something more. The men and woman at the table were watching my display.

"Unfortunately, I went for a pectoral hit to hopefully knock him back, but I slipped on spilled beer and my kick went too high. I hit him right on the jaw and broke it."

"You broke Tank's jaw?" Stephanie gasped.

"And I've felt awful about it ever since."

"Why?" Tank looked confused.

"I promised I wouldn't hurt you."

Looking at the others I said, "Afterwards, I ordered this handsome gentleman to sit down. I sat on his lap to keep him from jumping up while I examined the jaw. Using several bandanas I created a sling to hold the jaw in place until he got to the hospital." No way was I mentioning how instantly stimulating sitting on his lap was for both of us.

"Where did you learn to stabilize the mandible?" Bobby asked.

"It was done to me years before."

"And you kissed me," Tank continued.

Laughing, "Yes, I did, right here…" and I reached over and touched the spot on his forehead. I would have kissed it again, but I had already been too overt.

"That was it?" Stephanie asked dismissively.

"Well, it was a public location like here and I was and am an Army officer. For their actions, five men spent the night in detention, sleeping off the alcohol. Pierre went to the hospital to have his jaw set.

"I figured my kissing him would cause me a boatload of problems. Those who saw it didn't mention it, except Simpson. I got creamed though. Simpson's daddy had political clout. I was brought up for court-martial."

"WHAT?'" Tank nearly leaped from his chair. I grabbed his arm to keep him down.

"I nearly killed two Army Rangers and injured a third."

"The hell you did," Tank blustered.

"I knocked Manoso unconscious and I broke your jaw in an unprovoked attack. Furthermore, I endangered Simpson's health and heritage by bruising his penis."

"That's bullshit," Tank shot back.

"That's not what the courts found."

"They never talked to me," Tank mumbled.

"... or to any of us," added Ranger.

"No, you were suddenly shipped to Australia including Pierre, contrary to the doctor's advice. Simpson remained behind because of his bruises. The Aussie MPs saw a whole different display. They thought I was well contained and were so impressed they wanted me to train their MPs, but their testimony was ruled ineligible."

"Why?"

"From the start, it was obvious the whole proceeding was rigged. The charges began in Washington, from Simpson's father, not in the Philippines. My poor JAG rep was pulling his hair out, trying to create a defense, but everything was ruled inadmissible by the head judge. Simpson didn't have to appear in person, an affidavit was enough. He was never cross-examined. Later, he transitioned out of the Army on a medical."

"For a bruised dick?" Lester spewed. "I should have been out the first week."

"Your daddy wasn't a US Senator. Ultimately, the head judge's verdict was 'guilty of attempted murder'."

"Bullshit." Tank uttered, quietly enough not to be heard beyond the table.

"The other two judges ruled 'not guilty'. One even suggested the whole proceeding was illegal and unnecessary."

"That's quite a difference from attempted murder," Ranger replied.

"The sentence went to arbitration. The head judge pushed for 20 years in Leavenworth, but that was excessive. Finally, it came down to loss of grade, busted back to Lieutenant and barred from any law enforcement: no MP, no CID, nor Judge Advocate. I had to be totally reclassified."

"You didn't appeal?"

"My father, a Colonel, contacted me and said to ride it out, there was far more at stake than just me. He hinted at the stench in Washington.

"Why didn't you receive a DD, dishonorable discharge?" Lester asked.

"That was what the head judge wanted after he couldn't get Leavenworth. The other two looked at my record and couldn't justify it, plus they too were suspicious something was amiss. Eventually, an investigation was started, but in the meantime, I got a new assignment."

"Reclassified as what?" Ranger asked.

I chuckled, "Everyone thought I'd end up minding a desk somewhere out of the way, maybe a weapons depot. Nope, Senator Simpson was out for blood. I was retested: fitness, strength, intelligence plus weapons proficiency. On the firing range, I shot a perfect score on three different weapons. Fitness, strength, agility, intelligence, and so on I scored in the upper 10%." Turning to Ranger, "Where would you have put me?"

"Special Forces."

"Except women weren't allowed in Special Forces."

"Weapons or hand-to-hand instructor, then."

"Positions reserved for non-coms. I still had my commission. However, the Senator and his friends wanted me out of sight, gone, preferably dead. On paper, I was sent to an ammunition depot in the desert in Southern Cal just as everyone suspected. Actually, I was at Fort Huachuca in southern Arizona. From there I visited Campbell, Benning, and Bragg. I received a rather unusual MOS in the 35s."

Bobby simply said, "Oh, shit."

Stephanie looked confused but the Army guys around the table shook their heads. "Somebody want to tell me what…?"

"Spook," Ranger said quietly.

"My sex and rank were forgotten and I became an operative, operating in the grey zones where rules don't apply." I looked at Ranger and knew he understood as he, too, had been in the grey zone more than a few times, especially once he left the Army. "They figured I'd get killed. My father could not get involved as he was part of the investigation team probing the Washington and Pentagon cesspool. The scum was baiting him, trying to get him to misstep so they could destroy him, my brother, who is also in the Army, and derail the entire investigation."

"What a horrible father! He was willing to sacrifice his daughter?" Stephanie nearly spit.

"When we take the oath to protect the country and Constitution we accept it may mean personal sacrifice. My father took the same oath I and my brother took," I answered simply.

"You aren't still in it are you?" Lester gasped.

"I was for about six years until I got stuck in the rabbit hole and one step from death, literally. This guy saved me," I said, tapping Tank on the arm.

"Huh?" Tank was surprised and searching his memory.

"No, you didn't know it was me, then or other times. I was invisible. Either I was camouflaged or located out of sight."

"Excuse me, Colonel, what do you mean 'down the rabbit hole'?" Stephanie asked.

"It has several meanings, but here it's a complex, chaotic mission where success or survival is…problematic at best."

Stephanie thought of Ranger and some of the other guys going away 'on missions'. How often were they 'down the rabbit hole'?

Maria and Juanita arrived with our orders. Most everyone had ordered Huevos Rancheros under red chile. The smell was intoxicating. The sweet earthy chile belied the spicy bite. Here they used a hotter Hatch chile. Few people realize Hatch is not only the growing region but also it is the variety, whose seasonal growing conditions and preparation determines the heat. Those unfamiliar with chile are warned to take their chile on the side. Stephanie ordered a giant waffle covered in pecans and whipped cream. My order arrived in a generous bowl, not on a dish.

"What's that?" Tank asked as he looked at my bowl of vegetables.

"Caldo Chile Verde," I answered with a smile.

"Green Chile Stew for breakfast?" Tank asked.

"It is all relative: for some it is breakfast, for others it is dinner."

Ranger froze. He was remembering those words from a mission long ago, uttered by a sniper in a ghillie suit in North Korea. He glanced at me and I nodded and winked back. He stared at his breakfast but couldn't eat.

Tank missed the exchange with Ranger. He was too fascinated with the vegetable stew. "What is in it?"

"It is a meat broth base, this time pork meat, several different vegetables especially _calabacitas_ also known as summer squash, green beans, corn, lots of green _chile,_ and a carb, like potatoes or _posole."_

" _Posole?_ "

"It is hominy but not the vile, canned stuff. Do you want a taste?"

"You don't mind?"

A surprised and contented look came over Tank's face. "I'm sure Maria would share her recipe if you asked nicely. It's on the menu, Colonel's Special. I've eaten gallons of it here; breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

When everyone was sipping the last of their coffee, I slipped away and went to Juanita, giving her a handful of one hundred dollar bills. "This is for the meal for all of us and a tip."

"Colonel, this is too much!"

"Juanita, it may be the last time I'm here."

"Colonel, are you being reassigned again?"

"Yes. Please use the money to buy your son, Diego, the microscope he wants. I hope he becomes a doctor."

With that, a teary-eyed Juanita threw her arms around me, " _Vaya con Dios."_

" _Gracias a todos para su amistad y amor."_ I replied (Thank you for your friendship and love). I continued on to the restroom; I had consumed a lot of coffee. When I returned to the table, Ranger uttered, "You didn't need to buy us all breakfast, but thank you."

"Save your money. First thing you need to do is go for burner phones. Now, we need to talk outside, just you, Pierre, and me."

We left the restaurant and I bid goodbye to Stephanie, Lester, Bobby, and Hal. Stephanie wanted to stay with Ranger but Bobby pulled her aside, "Let them talk."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _Stephanie wanted to stay with Ranger but Bobby pulled her aside, "Let them talk."_

 **0-0**

While the others moved towards their vehicles, Ranger, Pierre and I walked to the back of the restaurant, away from the front door. After checking for cameras and finding none, I faced the two men and began. "I received a call from Silvio last night. We've stayed in contact all these years. When he moved into Cyber work after his knee injury with the MPs, I was his boss for a while. He's intelligent and clever. For him to call me with a problem, it had to be bad. Someone is trying to hack Rangeman, big time; computers and phones."

"Have the firewalls been breached?" Ranger asked.

"They got close. Silvio caught it and put up a defense. He contacted me for help. I can't give him classified military programs, but I do have programs I've been working on my own. They are keeping Rangeman secure for now. In reviewing the hackers' attack, I'm seeing old government codes used years ago but with modern updates."

"You still work in Cyber?" Ranger asked.

"I'm in a special division within Intelligence," I answered.

"Do you know who is attacking us?"

"If I had to guess, it is somebody in the FBI who used to work in their Cyber division. If it these were modern FBI attacks, their current programs would have gotten further into your system. There's a good chance you would have been totally breached by now."

I could see Ranger and Pierre run through their minds trying to find possible suspects or reasons. I didn't know enough about Rangeman to offer suggestions.

"For now, you need to keep your communications above board, nothing secret. If you want to be in the dark, use burners here and back there. Use the disposables no more than once for important calls. For other calls you can use them up to six times before dumping them. Cover all camera ports on your devices. In fact, keep devices away from you when talking person to person. Even without a camera, vocal vibrations can be picked up."

"What about our land lines?" Ranger asked.

"They have ears."

"Are our computers safe?"

"Just like here, keep it friendly. Don't be trying to access files or saving files. If possible, don't use any devices out here other than your burners. Silvio is trying to rebuild, but it will take time."

"Are you helping him?" Ranger asked.

"I can't do anymore. I'm going on a mission."

I turned to Pierre, "Now, you." Stepping forward, I put my hands behind his neck and pulled him to my lips. At first he was surprised, wanting to pull away but I held tight. He realized this would be a long kiss and relaxed. Tongues danced against each other, my grasp on him went from his neck to his glorious chest and arms. I was thoroughly enjoying the experience. We both began to react. His arms wrapped tightly around my back. I used my height and his surprise to push him to the wall and put my full body against his. More than his tongue was now responding. I was quite tingly myself. I wanted to rub myself all over him like a cat in heat and ride his leg like a bronc rider. Before we self-combusted, I pulled back. We both were gasping.

"You two need a room?" Ranger smirked.

I shook my head, "Sadly, there's not enough time."

"What was THAT for?" Pierre said, still gasping as he tried to discretely rearrange the central seam of his pants.

"That was a thank you for saving my life."

"You said that inside. I don't remember."

I looked him in the eyes, "Sergeant, do you still have my Barrett 107?"

Pierre suddenly stood still, eyes distant remembering the Hellhole in Nicaragua and how he ended up with a Barrett 107 sniper rifle. It was not standard Army issue, it was a personal weapon.

I began refreshing his memory, "Manoso and two others on a black ops mission had been captured. Your team assembled for rescue but there was no sniper, the team was delayed. Finally, a sniper was found and sent ahead with a spotter to find a position overlooking the jungle prison. There was another delay, this one 14 hours due to aircraft mechanical problems. When you finally arrived and established communication with the spotter, you were urged to double-time it to the prison camp."

He was listening and remembering the frustration at being delayed. When they landed, they were urged to double-time it to the camp. Gunfire was heard in the background. When they arrived, the camp was strewn with dead and dying bodies. The few remaining were more interested in getting up the hill to the sniper. While Tank and two men ran to the shack, the rest of the team picked off the remaining rebels.

"When you arrived, there was a firefight in progress. The sniper was picking off the men in the camp who were desperately trying to find the sniper. You and two others entered the shack and found the three, badly beaten American soldiers. Two were hanging from ceiling hooks, the other lay across a desk. There were five dead men in the office; three Nicaraguan rebels and two civilians. The civilians had their throats slit with one of the heads nearly cut off. The three rebel officers died with headshots.''

Looking off, eyes were focusing on a memory. Manoso was the one on the desk next to have his throat slit. The Colonel was spot on.

"You threw Manoso over your shoulder. Two on your team took the others. As you passed an earthen mound, a bullet hit a metal object with a loud clang. You called to another on your team to break the lock."

"...And there we found the prisoners," he continued in a monotone. "We couldn't stop to help. All the rebels were dead but reinforcements were less than an hour away. We hoped the prisoners had time to vanish into the jungle." Ranger stood off to the side and listened. He barely remembered the rescue.

I continued, "The helicopter had a very narrow window for retrieval. All your men were on board but the spotter and sniper were late. At the last moment, two green shrubs moved. The port side gunner panicked and fired several rounds before someone stopped him. The spotter and sniper continued to the helicopter with its rotor already at full speed. The spotter jumped in, but the sniper hesitated, you reached out and grabbed him at the last second as the machine lifted off."

Pierre was barely breathing as he listened and remembered. He's tried to forget those hours in the jungle, but to this day they continued to haunt his dreams.

"A medic tended Manoso and the others. About 10 minutes into the flight the sniper sitting next to you appeared to have passed out and was falling out the open door. You grabbed him and talked to him, "We aren't there yet, be patient." You failed to notice the blood oozing through the ghillie and onto your hands. Maybe you thought it was Manoso's from earlier. When the helicopter reached the temporary base, the sniper stumbled out, turned and handed you the Barrett... "Yours" was all I could say and I walked to the waiting C140."

He was dumbfounded. "You?"

"I was shot by the port side gunner. The bullet caught my vest at narrow-angle, plowed from side to side before it landed in my left arm. The force had been reduced enough my arm wasn't blown off. If the angle had been steeper, I would have had a giant hole in me. The vest wouldn't stop that big caliber. I wasn't passing out, I was jumping. I had reached my end. Seeing what the rebel officers were doing inside the building sent me back mentally to an incident in my childhood. Watching the villagers stagger out of their underground prison plus clearing the camp including the officers in the office was more than I could handle. Having endured years of mental and physical pain prior to that day, I wanted it to end. You grabbed me and held onto me keeping me from going out the door."

Pierre leaned up against the wall replaying the incident in his head.

"Tell me about North Korea?" Ranger whispered referring back to the green chile stew comment earlier.

"You disappeared looking for Vlatko. I knew you were probably in a camp near Chelosan. I called for a backup team and led them close to the camp. When your fellow Rangers brought you out, a compress held your guts in from a stab wound. The medic was being carried out, dead or near dead. Anyone on your team could have stitched you up, standard Ranger training. I took the medic's bag and two on your team held you down. I didn't bother to remove my ghillie. You were delirious and panicked at a shrub stitching you up. I imagine the scar is ugly, there wasn't much time."

Ranger stared into my eyes and then my hands. Maybe he was remembering my long slender fingers emerging from a jungle camouflaged ghillie.

"There was one other time," I spoke softly. "Somalia. I was the sniper on the roof."

Both Pierre and Ranger had been part of a group to capture an Al Shahbaab leader. They were stunned. The sniper provided cover while helping direct their progress. Nobody realized the voice heard over the radio was a woman's.

"That was my sentence for Billabong Bar. I was an operative but worked as a shooter in the world's shitholes. Nicaragua broke me." Touching Pierre, "You saved me, allowing me to start over. While in Nicaragua, the Simpson scandal broke. I was exonerated on all charges related to the Philippines. I was patched up mentally and physically, awarded up the wazoo for my six years in Hell, promoted, and reassigned within Intelligence."

Before Ranger asked the question, I answered him, "Silvio was a good MP, but better with computers. I had him moved to Intelligence after his injury. The Army was ready to discharge him. I had him only two years before he left."

"Are you his 'secret government contact' he's referred to?"

I gave a quick nod.

"Can I ask where you are now?" Ranger continued.

"Since Nicaragua, I've been kept on this side of the lines, but my new assignment is back in the field. I've been at Ft. Bliss in a special unit for the past month, but I'm off in less than twenty-four. Trust me, if it wasn't important I wouldn't go back under."

Pierre instinctively reached out and grabbed me and pulled me towards him. I didn't stop him.

Ranger was humbled. He didn't know what to say. Finally he put out his hand, "Colonel, thank you...for everything." When I pushed off Pierre and took Ranger's hand, Ranger pulled me into a hug, "May you return safely."

"Thank you, Ranger, with the Lord's help."

I turned and hugged Pierre again, "I always hoped we could finally get together, at least to spar again. You have been in my thoughts since Billabong. But at least I got to see you and thank you for Nicaragua." As we walked together towards my car, I quietly said, "Pierre, I apologize for my actions back there. Those were not officer conduct actions, but the only way to quickly say...mister, you are the only man who has made me feel."

"Feel what?"

"Like there is more than being a soldier. Perhaps someday I could have been a woman. That day in the bar something inside of me woke up, briefly before it was slammed shut again. It was just reawakened against the wall here. Pierre, you are the only man I have kissed, outside of my family. Had I known what type of kisser you were, I would have hunted you down before now." I sighed, "Mister, you make my heart flutter. Thank you." I thought it best not to add 'tingly in the shorts' as well.

"Colonel, I have never forgotten you. You were like an angel in that bar. I thought you actually radiated light. I remember your concern for me, your tenderness, and of course the kiss. All are as fresh in my mind today as when they occurred. I've even prayed we'd meet again."

I smiled, "Sounds like we have been on the same wavelength." We were back at my Porsche 911 Turbo at the curb.

"Nice car," he muttered. "But it really isn't built for us taller people."

I laughed, "Spoken from experience?"

"Ranger has one."

"This is only a lease. I've never owned anything. I move around too much and can't be tied down with useless items."

Pierre cleared his throat, "Colonel, this is embarrassing, but I still can't wrap my mind and tongue around your name. If I'm going to pray for you, I need to know how."

I smiled and began to tear up. He wants to pray for me. A name card was in my hand. "Yes, it is a tongue twister, but I don't think the Lord requires you to speak the full name. Vassi or VC is fine."

He glanced at the card and looked up, "I know you can't be contacted while on a mission, but when you come back..."

I couldn't tell him it was probably a suicide mission. I thought for a moment, "I may be able to contact you from out there. They'll be encrypted high speed less than 10 character flash messages once or twice a month. Not traceable."

"Is that possible?"

"For me it is."

"How will I know it's from you?"

I chuckled, "You will, you can trust me."

"You'll need my contact info."

"Please, don't insult me," I mumbled. "I have had your contact info for years."

He looked at me, questioning with his eyes what I just said.

"Pierre, I'm not a stalker. I wanted to know you were still alive and maybe our paths would cross and I'd have a chance to thank you and …ah... kiss you again." I began to blush. "When Silvio called for help and mentioned you were up outside of Alamogordo in the Sacramento's, I told him I was closer. I'd bring the message." We both were quiet and looked into each other's eyes. Damn, I didn't want to leave and he sure didn't want me to leave.

"Please come back. Come back to me," he said with such passion it broke my heart. The chances of returning were virtually zero. A single tear rolled down my cheek, "I've never stopped dreaming about you, Pierre, and never will. Goodbye."

When I returned to Ft. Bliss, I sent a snail-mail letter to my brother asking him to contact Tank at Rangeman Trenton if something should happen to me.

Ranger and Stephanie rode together back to the cabin in the mountains. "I've never seen Tank act that way, not even with Lula," Stephanie said.

Ranger nodded, "You still think he is just infatuated with her?"

"It's beyond infatuation…for both of them. Is there any chance for them to get together?"

Ranger thought about what she said about her upcoming mission. "No, probably not."

"Oh no, poor Tank."

Ranger didn't respond. He remembered the depression his friend went into in Australia years ago after the initial meeting. He hoped Tank was mature enough not to crawl into a tequila bottle again.

When they reached the mountain cabins, everyone had several new cells and was learning their new phone numbers. Each called Silvio with their new numbers. Their original Rangeman phones remained offline.

"Ranger," Silvio said, "I hated to ask her but time was of the essence."

"She was a surprise, to say the least. Tank is in a daze. Don't be surprised if he grills you on her. You know about her mission? "

"She said nothing of course, but I think it might be a one-way mission. She's sending me all her personal research on security. She wouldn't do that if she thought she might return."

Ranger paused for a moment. He understood the feelings of a possible one-way mission, but to divest yourself of everything, including your life's work, is akin to walking up to the executioner and spitting in their eye. There was no way he'd tell Tank what Silvio just said. "What about our problems?"

"We need to talk, face to face."

"Dallas, tomorrow 1500."

"Roger."

Ranger lay awake watching the skies gradually lighten before dawn. His mind went through years of covert activity trying to remember all his contacts with the FBI. Why was someone trying to hack into Rangeman?

As he thought, his fingers slowly caressed the woman beside him. She had finally decided to leave the cop. Catching him _in-flagrante_ with a whore on Stark Street started the end. Morelli was becoming frustrated with Stephanie and increasingly abusive, trying to force her to be his idea of a wife. His rants each time she was in danger or recently escaped from danger were never preceded by "Are you hurt?" No, the gist was usually "I had to take off from what I was doing to check on you. You give me ulcers. You belong at home with our family." Never mind there was no marriage, no child, and the only house was his.

Her life with the cop was nothing more than what happened in the bedroom; hardly a strong foundation for marriage. Both had believed a strong sex life meant love. At best, they were friends sharing a love of hockey, beer, pizza, and sex. The only laughter they shared was Bob Dog's antics. Maybe that was the Burg lifestyle, but she soon grew tired of the routine. Throwing in children, diapers, and learning to cook manicotti did not raise the excitement meter. Though she saw Ranger far less often than Joe, he had already shown her more diversity in respect, love, food, life experiences, and his sexual prowess. He would come to her rescue, not with accusations but with the simple words, "Are you hurt?" Never once did the cop say he was proud of her work, but Ranger always did.

Yet, he still had trouble with commitment but she realized she wasn't ready for family commitment either, if ever. Her confusion kept her from showing her true feelings to him, perhaps frustrating him as much as he frustrated her. After the last disaster, she decided it was time to fish or cut bait. Joe was out and if Ranger didn't step up, she was leaving. "Ranger, I'm finished with Joe, finished believing I need to be married. If I can get a good-paying job that doesn't bore me to tears, could we become partners? I'll not ask for more if you can't give it."

"What about your family and the Burg?"

"I've had it with them. One way or the other, I'm done with the Burg. If you feel you are too dangerous for me, I'm going to leave and start over elsewhere."

"What about Vinnie?"

"I'm not making it being his skip chaser. Since I usually only do low bond skips, I'm not gaining financial security. I need to think about my future."

"Babe, I've always said you have a job at Rangeman whenever you want it. The few times you've worked for us, you've done a great job. You can do research, help with management, skip chase with a trained partner, but not Lula. You know the requirements though, physical fitness and gun training."

"I do and I accept. I've been going to a gym in Hamilton on my own and believe I can get in shape."

"Babe," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

Her mother reacted as expected when Stephanie said she was finally finished with Joe. The difference was, this time Stephanie stood up for herself. "He's a man-whore, constantly dipping is wick into other women. I've always insisted he wear a condom, perhaps knowing subconsciously he might be infected. He's not reliable, just like Dickie. Is that the proper Burg way, mother? Is Daddy a womanizer?"

Her mother was so shocked she couldn't reply. Not giving her mother time to rebound, Stephanie continued. "I'm finished listening to you. Is your life so empty you have to live through others? From now on, I will live my own life. If it means leaving Trenton, I will. I may marry or I may not. Old maid is a term relegated to the past, the past in which you and the Burg continue to wallow. I may have children or I may not. One thing is for certain, you will have no say. It is my life, not yours. If I don't fulfill your perfect daughter ideal, I am not sorry. I am who I am, not what you want me to be. Valerie has always been your perfect daughter even when she bore Lisa out of wedlock. Your antiquated Burg rules didn't come down on her."

Stephanie went to work for Rangeman part-time in searches and was allowed to participate in FTA apprehension but not as the active member. As a part-time employee, she did escape the gun handling requirement as well as regular physical exercise. But the Rangeman crew was sneaky. They invited her to outings that forced physical effort. Boating wasn't by a motor but by paddle. She had been kayaking near Princeton, rowboats in a number of parks and even paddleboat races in an impromptu Rangeman picnic. A treetop adventure in Cape May included zip lines and Tarzan swings along with demanding hiking. They even got her on cross-country skis before the last of the spring snows melted. It wasn't that she was against exercising; she was against planned exercise in gyms or long boring runs. Weapons training started with paintball combat and archery lessons. Her reluctance to using handguns stemmed from her first FTA case: Joe Morelli. While she did capture Joe and break open a drug ring, she angered Jimmy Alpha who broke into her apartment and tried to kill her. She emptied her S&W revolver into his heart. Nobody thought she needed mental counseling afterward. Finally, years after the incident and as she started work with Rangeman, she got her therapy. When she realized she had excellent hand-eye coordination and Ram found a handgun better suited to her hand than the S&W revolver, slowly the obstinate Jersey girl was maturing into Rangewoman. Her part-time position grew in hours until she became full time.

Ranger was also changing. A "One-Night Charlie" since his youth, his attraction and devotion to the curly-haired woman next to him was frightening. He never wanted to put her in harm's way, but harm seemed to find her and she handled it well. She was stronger than he originally believed. When she finally broke her Burg tether and quit listening to the gossipers, she gained her confidence. More and more, he could see a lifetime, committed relationship with the new and improved Stephanie Plum or maybe even Stephanie Manoso.

She woke from his caresses. There was enough light coming through the window for him to see and dive deeply into her blue eyes. He tried hard not to gasp at their beauty and intensity. Instead, he took her face and gently kissed her. She responded quickly and the gentleness turned to neediness. After lying spent and enjoying the orgasmic afterglow, he began to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Stephanie asked. "Isn't there a round two?"

"Sorry, Babe, Tank and I are flying to Dallas. We'll be back for dinner."

"Why?"

"We will be hungry."

"No, smarty, why are you going to Dallas?"

"We are meeting Silvio. The information the Colonel brought was troublesome. We need to talk face to face since our communication system is compromised. Hal, Bobby and Lester will be here with you."

She hesitated to ask if she could come. Realizing it was probably a secret meeting and she'd be bored, she huffed, "Couldn't you take Lester, please?"

"I believe the guys were planning activities up around Ft. Stanton including horseback riding or trail bikes and archery. You know how Lester likes to play Robin Hood. But if he gets out of hand, Bobby will medicate him." He leaned over and gave her a very long, deep kiss. "We'll save the rest for tonight."

"Without Tank, who will cook dinner? You know it won't be me."

"If you are really nice to Lester he can make a good _arroz con pollo._ "

"How nice do I have to be?" she asked playfully.

Ranger paused, "Then again, Hal and Bobby are good with the grill. You guys figure it out."

 **Colonel VC POV**

I drove the Porsche to the front gate of a secured area of the El Paso airport. It was time to return the car to the leasing agent sitting next to me. As I exited, he got out and came around to the driver's side. We shook hands. I told him I thoroughly enjoyed the car. He turned the car around and drove away. A Suburban with four men appeared beyond the gate. Two got out, checked my ID and go-pack then ran a wand over my body. When cleared, I walked through the gate, got into the big car and was driven to a hangar. The aircraft, a G650, was unmarked except for Swiss registration. The "mechanics" nearby played their part well. I knew they were security forces, but not U.S. forces. Once up the stairs, I turned right and saw him standing in the aisle, "Ari!" Seeing him filled me with love, admiration, and concern. Today, there was also fear.

The less than six-feet-tall, middle-aged man with Mediterranean features greeted me, throwing his arms around me, kissing my cheeks, "My dear Vassiliki, my daughter."

Once we sat and buckled in, Ari turned to me, "Vassi, I'm truly sorry to call you in on this, but you are the expert plus you have field experience."

"Ari, I'm older and probably not as fast or sharp as your agents. You must be desperate to have gotten Washington to agree to send me on this," I answered.

"Your father is not happy, to say the least. I've probably lost his friendship," he sighed.

I put my head back on the seat and thought about how my father and Ari became close friends.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **I put my head back on the seat and thought about how my father and Ari became close friends.**

 **Years before in Egypt…**

"Papa, can we ride a camel?" asked Niko.

"I want my own camel," I begged. Being Niko's twin sister didn't always mean we shared everything.

My father was a US Army liaison officer with the Egyptian Army. My mother, brother, and I lived in Germany but for two weeks we were vacationing together as a family in Egypt. During the evenings, my parents were entertained by high-ranking government and military officials. On the weekend, an outdoor affair included Niko and me. Proper behavior had been drilled into our minds so as not to embarrass the parents, US Army, or the United States.

Niko and I were 13, but I entered puberty early and was already 5'9", slender, athletic, and growing a womanly figure. Niko was several inches shorter. Men looked at me with more than casual eyes. My parents kept me close.

On our last day in Egypt, I came down with a stomach ailment. My mother decided to sleep with me while Niko slept with Dad. Apparently sometime after 0200, several people snuck onto the hotel floor, killed the two guards outside our hotel suite door, and entered. They came directly to my bedroom. My mother was killed and I was drugged and carried away. My father and brother heard nothing.

I awoke disoriented and extremely nauseous. Somebody was wiping my face. I was restrained. A needle prick in my arm was followed by a burning feeling. I wanted to cry out but fought the urge.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I had no idea you were so sensitive to the drug." The accented voice was unfamiliar. When I opened my eyes I saw a middle-aged man, medium-dark complexion with dark hair and silver streaks on the sides. Still unsure why I couldn't move, I looked and saw shackles on my wrists and ankles.

"Do you need to urinate?"

I shook my head hoping it would mean being released. Instead, he slid a bedpan under me, "Begin." I was mortified.

"Begin or I will put a catheter into your bladder." The term meant nothing to me but my shy bladder still wouldn't release. I quickly learned about a catheter.

Once nausea subsided, he began feeding me broth. After only a few mouthfuls, he took the broth away, "Not too much to start." He then turned back to me, "My dear Vassiliki, I regret to tell you on your way to the airport there was a horrible auto accident. Your father, mother, and brother were killed. You received a head injury and have been in a coma for weeks. Since you have no other family, I will take care of you now."

My mind swam in circles. I didn't remember a trip to the airport. And who was he? My father's family was from Kythira, Greece, my mother was from the Caribbean island, Martinique. Was this a cousin or uncle? Why was I shackled in this dark room like a prisoner? This wasn't a hospital. Something was wrong, very wrong. I pulled on the restraints hoping they'd release.

"You are restrained because I did not want you to get up and move around when you didn't have your mind. If you settle down and cooperate with me, you will be richly rewarded and live a luxurious life. In my culture, women must obey men. Never refuse to do what I tell you. I don't ask, I tell. If you refuse in any way, you will be punished. Do you understand?"

I shook my head no. It wasn't that I didn't understand; the broth was coming back up. I vomited just as he slapped me across the face and left me in my filth.

When he returned, he was in a foul mood. After harshly washing my face and shoulder free of the vomit, he pushed the catheter aside and raped me. I couldn't stop yelling as I felt like I was being torn apart. Finally, he put his hand over my mouth and nose. I passed out.

When I came to he was redressing himself. "You will accept this as your responsibility as a woman. I will not be generous next time and cut off your air. The more you fight me, the worse it will be for you."

In the dark and stuffy room, time had no meaning. He came to feed me, tend to my personal needs, and sexually molest me. After learning exactly what constituted a refusal, and how painful the consequences would be, I became more obedient. With obedience, came more freedoms; the overhead light remained on for a few hours but time meant nothing. Also, I could move around the room, though one leg remained shackled to a chain attached to a post. At least, I had access to the toilet and sink. Unfortunately, he insisted on bathing me, which included more molestation.

A small table and 2 chairs sat near the bed. Meals were irregular, according to my stomach. Sometimes, it seemed as if I just ate, other times I was ravenous when the food arrived. Every meal he sat and watched me, making sure I ate everything. He also tutored me in Arabic. At first, he spoke to me in English, French, or Greek, but eventually only in Arabic and expected me to answer in the same language. I had to learn to read and write the language and was given regular exams. Failure to answer correctly or study hard was an infraction resulting in physical punishment. The more he punished me, the more he sexually molested me.

I had been there for what seemed to be an eternity and failed to note I had stopped menstruating. The whole monthly routine was somewhat new, so its absence was a blessing. After taking urine and blood samples he announced, "You are going to bear a child." I had no idea what he was talking about. Adult married women had children, not me.

Papa took Mama's body back to the US to be buried. Niko was enrolled his son in a private school near West Point Military Academy where Papa's friends in the Army could look after his son. Papa returned to Egypt for look for me. The US Army, as well as the US government, had been trying to get the Egyptian police, military, anybody, to continue investigating Mama's murder and my kidnapping. After six weeks, the Egyptians insisted I had been sold into the international sex and slavery trade and could be anywhere in the world. The authorities had no leads. One police officer seemed especially frustrated. "I don't understand Lt. Col. Christofondodoulous, there are no leads on your wife's and the guards' murders or your daughter's disappearance. Nothing."

Finally, the Egyptian government insisted Papa leave the country. The day he was forced to leave, he found a card in his jacket pocket. He did not know where it was from or when it came. On one side, it simply read: Mossad. When he turned it over, it directed him to a cafe in Cyprus five days in the future.

-0-

It was a sunny, humid day. George Christofondodoulous sat sipping his Greek coffee at a seaside cafe near Trinity Beach on the east side of the island. Dhekelia, the British military base, was nearby. Though in appearance very much a Mediterranean, George stood out, not by his military uniform as he wasn't wearing one that day, but by his size. He stood 6'5" tall, muscular, looking more like a football player, which he had been at West Point, and had maintained his fitness over the years. Ever observant, George watched everything without being obvious. He figured the busboy clearing the tables would be his contact and indeed he was. The busboy cleared a nearby table and spoke in Greek, "Colonel, we can find your daughter. Nod if you wish us to begin." George nodded. "We'll be in touch, go back to Germany."

George gave a tiny affirmative move and remained in his seat until the busboy disappeared. Trained in intelligence, George knew how to wait and remain calm. After a while, he rose and left the cafe, returning to Germany.

Several weeks later, George was returning to his Heidelberg apartment in the late evening when he found the busboy from the Cypriot cafe sitting in his living room. The Colonel knew his locks were up to date, but this apparent Mossad agent knew how to get through them.

"Good evening, Colonel, I am Elisha. I bring news about your daughter."

George sat down opposite Elisha and with a careful voice hiding the enthusiasm in his heart he asked, "What information do you have?"

"Through our network, we feel your daughter is still in Egypt being held captive by a high ranking official or family member. We've determined the clamp down on information is not coming from the government or police. The police are frustrated and the government is embarrassed. They are trying to minimize public information. The official who told you she had been sold into sex slavery had been ordered to tell you that by his superior. The superior got his orders from someone outside of the police, someone with authority."

George's eyes grew cold, "Military or civilian?"

"Sir, we have our suspicions, but as yet uncertain," Elisha said calmly.

"And the reason for the kidnapping?" though George already suspected the answer.

"She is young and very pretty. Most likely, she is being held as a sex toy or maybe being groomed to be a wife. Worst case, she will be groomed for an operation to glorify their god."

The Colonel felt ill. It was bad enough thinking of his 13-year-old daughter being forced into sex, but it was a thousand times worse than she might become a pawn in the growing urban warfare of proxy bombing, forced to wear a bomb vest in a public location.

"Why is Mossad involved?"

"That I cannot tell you."

George nodded. He didn't have a right to know. "What do you want from me in return?"

"Believe me, sir, when I say nothing. We already know you support Israel and our democracy. You do not flop in the wind depending on your current administration. All we ask of you is to remain steadfast in your belief in us."

"You'll want something in the future."

"Maybe, maybe not. We hope you remain in the Army and continue to be our friend. You'd be ashamed how many of your officers swing back and forth on the question of Israel's right to independence. They are protecting their careers depending on various executive administrations."

George had seen this as well. The US's only ally in the Middle East had been treated poorly by several administrations in the name of oil or human rights. They conveniently forgot Israel was constantly under attack, from within and without, since its inception by groups whose only aim was to finish what the pogroms and Holocaust couldn't. The Jews wanted to live in peace, something denied them for centuries. They did not rely on worldwide handouts; they were innovators, self-sustaining and indeed leaders in medical research and development. Surprisingly, they were a technical powerhouse second only to the Silicon Valley in California.

Elisha hesitated, "Colonel, how cooperative is your daughter?"

"What do you mean?"

"The more cooperative she is, the better her chances are to survive."

George groaned openly. "She is very independent but does respect authority if she finds it just."

Elisha looked concerned then nodded. "Headstrong?"

"She's an adolescent female." Saying more seemed superfluous.

"Hopefully, she has learned discretion."

-0-

I was aware my body was changing. My breasts were becoming tender and not just from the man's constant manipulation. The sexual assaults continued; however, my moods became crankier and I was punished often.

One afternoon I awoke suddenly; I was sitting at the table studying Arabic and had fallen asleep. As I stood to make my way to the toilet, I was seized by horrible pain. I fell to the floor, gasping, and began crawling to the toilet. My legs were bloody, my menstrual cycle had returned. What did that mean? Would the man be mad? I had no concept of miscarriage.

I was bent over at the sink, naked, washing my legs trying not to whimper in pain. The man entered the room and grabbed me from behind. His hands were exploring my anal regions as he rubbed himself over me. I was horrified and stood quickly, lashing back, "' _Ahbadaan,_ never," I screamed. Finally, I released my seven years of martial arts training, lashing back with my elbow into the man's nose and ribs. Propelled by hormones, pain, fear, and the disregard for my own life, I continued to lash out but forgot about the ankle shackle. With a tug on the chain, I lost my balance and fell backward striking my head on the floor. Though dazed, I felt the man kicking me about the head and chest. I lay on the concrete floor grateful he had left the room. I may have dozed briefly but was jolted back by the sting of a whip tearing into my back, shredding my skin. I tried to scream but my mouth wouldn't open properly. Soon vomit filled my mouth and throat and darkness returned.

I awoke and saw the man on the floor, just a few feet away. His head was twisted at a strange angle. Two men were washing out my mouth very gently. Any movement caused incredible pain in my face and jaw. Then one ripped the bed sheet into long bands and created a sling for my jaw. The rest of the sheet was gently wrapped around my naked body. The larger of the two men picked me up and carried me in his arms to a waiting vehicle. Other men stood guard with small arms weapons. Pain encompassed me. The larger man handed me off to the second man who had already crawled into the vehicle. I wanted to sleep, maybe the eternal sleep. Sensing this, the man holding me said, "My name is Ari. We are taking you to your father." I wasn't sure if he meant my earthly father or Heavenly Father.

Motion, darkness, occasional lights and overwhelming pain swam around me. Any sudden movement made me groan but the sound was muffled by the man's large chest, arms, and neck. The motion stopped and was replaced by metallic sounds and ocean smell. Lights passed my eyes, one at a time, marching from my toes over my head and then I was laid on a metal table. I whimpered as much from pain as fright.

"Vassi, I am Doctor David, you are safe now."

My mind cleared a little...he said "Dah-veed" instead of "Dav-id."

"Mossad" I mumbled through my jaw restraint.

The doctor looked surprised, "Yes".

Daddy said Mossad is the best.

 **Present….**

The G650 jet sliced through the air on its way to Israel after refueling in Canada. The hum of the engines and air passage was muted by exceptional soundproofing.

"Vassi, we confirmed your suspicions in Syria. I don't know how you figured it out. "

That's what I do Ari, I watch and listen."

He chuckled, "You make it sound so easy."

"It's easier with Mossad's help. I'm always grateful for your support."

"As we are with yours and your family's. Pretty loyal for non- Jews," he smiled.

"You saved my life. It's a debt I've yet to repay."

Ari looked over with deep sadness in his eyes, "And now I ask you to give it back. A large-scale invasion would lead to global conflict. If you can expose the facility and the suppliers, block transmissions while others destroy the facility then millions of lives will be saved."

"I hope the seismic reports are correct. It will be one heck of a ride without also causing an earthquake," I answered.

"If the team fails to get everything into the deep underground tunnel and you fail to block their transmissions before the proper time…"

"May the winds blow to the north or east," I sighed. One slight miscalculation and the team and I would be vaporized along with whoever was ever in the area. Up until Alamogordo, I didn't really care if I came out of this alive. Life held no happiness, only painful memories. Now I had a reason to live, Pierre. It wasn't fair!

-0-

 **(A/N: I know nothing about computer hacking so no** **pitchforks** **and burning torches please. Go with the story…..it's fiction, remember.)**

 **Dallas**

"Silvio" was Ranger's only greeting when they met in the hotel room not far from Dallas-Fort Worth airport.

"Ranger, I'm sorry to disturb your vacation, but this is critical," Silvio apologized.

"Where do we stand?"

"Ranger, thanks to VC we are secure again...for a while."

"How long have you been working with the Colonel?" Ranger asked as he sat down at the room's table opposite Silvio. Tank sat on the bed.

"She was my commanding officer in the MPs and later in Intelligence. We were there at Billabong bar. When I left and came to Rangeman, I lost track of her. One day, I was trying to gain very secret information for Rangeman by breaking through military firewalls. Suddenly, I was shut down. The whole system went blank. Before I could panic, my private unlisted phone rang: it was VC. How she knew my private number, I don't know. She chewed me a new one, worse than you Ranger. She told me one more step and the Pentagon watchdogs would have me by my nuts and destroy Rangeman."

"Was she one of their watchdogs?"

"I thought so at first but she offered to be my eyes if I needed to get into super-secret locations or do the research herself."

"Did she explain what you did wrong?"

"Yeah, she did," Silvio hung his head slightly. "I was searching at the same time as she was, and she saw my attempt. She recognized my old algorithms from the Army. How she shut down my computer and found my private phone is beyond me."

"She must have one heck of a computer setup," Tank added.

"Yeah, she can't tell me but what I've read about others who surmise its capacity, it is beyond imagining."

"Do you trust she's not a spy?" Tank asked. This was not the time to let personal feelings get in the way.

"I trust her and believe she's a spy on OUR side."

"So how does this affect us today?"

"Someone has been assaulting our firewalls. I've been able to stop most but some were getting mighty close to breaching. That's when I contacted VC for help. She said she saw some old code used by the FBI years ago so she didn't think it was THE FBI, meaning anyone current. She suspects it is someone with decent computer skills who worked with the FBI in times past. She gave me the most confounding programs I've ever seen to shore up and seal the firewalls. They are way beyond my understanding."

"So are we secure now?"

"The firewalls are secure; however, she said Rangeman Trenton is bugged."

Tank reacted quickly, "That can't be. We sweep daily. How does she know?"

Silvio rocked back in his chair chuckling, "We used to call her The Ghost. She could get places and back out without leaving a disturbed electron."

"What do you mean?"

"Electronic fingerprints such as a little bit of code left behind or a spy program set up to watch hackers."

She also said the other offices are bug-free. Ranger, our detection stuff is good, but not the most up-to-date. Newer bugs, newer masking techniques are always coming online. She's sending me security updates and suggests you leave a few building bugs in place and feed false information to whoever is listening."

"That means someone is a spy."

"Yeah."

"We have several new guys and the contract workers." Ranger couldn't help but think about Stephanie.

"Don't discount someone who has been with you for years. Situations change, someone may be holding a grudge all this time, or is being blackmailed by someone else," Silvio warned.

Tank was going through the roster mentally, "So really, it could be anybody."

"Yes."

"Will Hector and Manuel know how to use her updates?"

"No, you'll have to let me come up for a few days to work with them. Good thing my cousin in Newark is getting married."

"Is this a legitimate story or do I have to start laying the foundation?"

"We don't need a cover story to get past the spy. Do you want to come to the wedding?"

Ranger smiled, "I'll pass. Some in your family wouldn't appreciate me being there."

"It would make an interesting wedding, though. Old grudges die hard in my family."

"You would think me hiring you and setting you up in Miami would soften their hearts towards me," Ranger huffed.

"They aren't convinced Rangeman isn't a higher level gang and you finally trapped me," Silvio chuckled. "It's not like we walk around in corporate suits. We still are armed."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 **Situations change, someone may be holding a grudge all this time or is being blackmailed by someone else.**

 **-0-**

As promised, every other Sunday morning Tank had a message on his private computer address, not a Rangeman account. Each message was less than ten characters and untraceable. There was no doubt they were from VC. The messages included: "Tank", "Miss you", "Grnchile," "GrtKisser, "Mylove," but the last one was disheartening, "Pray4us." After that, there were no more.

The only unusual news from the Middle East was of an earthquake in an area not thought to have an active fault. The earth shook to the point where buildings collapsed for miles around. The Syrian government blamed a previously unknown fault. Conspiracy theorists believed it was actually an underground weapon storage area, even a nuclear storage bunker that exploded. Those rumors were quickly denied. Orbiting satellites could not detect a radiation signature.

As the weeks went by, Tank's heart sank. She wasn't coming home. He had lost fellow soldiers and friends, but this was worse. He finally found her again only to lose her. Living the dream of seeing and being with her was easier than knowing the dream was gone.

"Tank, you have a visitor at the street desk," Binkie relayed from the 5th-floor operations desk.

Tank responded, "Does the visitor have a name?"

"Army Colonel Christo-something."

His heart jumped in expectation. She survived and was downstairs! Why didn't she call or email to say she was coming? Did she want to surprise him? He didn't realize he had asked a question but the answer took his breath away, "Man or woman?"

"Man, sir."

He knew the "Christo-something" and it shouldn't be attached to a man. Tank took the stairs to the main floor stopping before he entered the lobby. A rock was forming in his gut and was growing large and might soon crush his heart.

As Tank came through the lobby door he extended his hand, "Colonel, my name is Pierre Sherman, but I go by Tank."

Nikolaos Christofondodoulous was 6'5", muscular and very well conditioned, but not as massive as Tank. He had the same mixed race color as VC.

"Colonel, normally I'd invite you in, but I'd be more comfortable walking outside. I hope you don't mind."

The Colonel was surprised. "As you wish, Mr. Sherman."

They cleared the building Tank asked if the Colonel would mind driving around town as they talked. "Please excuse me for not inviting you inside, but we have a security breach and are trying to track and trap the perpetrators. It is easier to talk away from the building."

The Colonel quickly slapped on the granite face, "I understand. I appreciate you keeping me clear. I assume you do not have your cell phone on you."

"I left all devices in the building."

They entered a large American SUV and Tank reached for the radio and the air conditioning to create background noise. The Colonel watched but said nothing. As he drove for a while, he suddenly doubled back on his route indicating he knew how to identify possible tails. When he was sure they were not being followed he began, "I'm Vassiliki's brother. She contacted me before she left Ft. Bliss ten weeks ago that in the event something happened to her, you were to be contacted."

The boulder in Tank's gut was about to smash his heart.

"I cannot tell you where she was or what she was doing. All I can tell you, and this is top secret, is she is alive but badly injured. Her mission was successful beyond anyone's expectations, and, frankly, none of the six-man team was expected to return. Small thermonuclear devices were being readied to be transported into Israel in cargo containers. The team went in and destroyed the lot. Somehow they found a way to get back to the command center where my sister was blocking electronic transmissions that would have triggered the devices. The underground explosion destroyed all the buildings in the area. Somehow the team found her under the rubble and all reached the exfiltration point."

"Will she survive?" Tank asked.

"Doubtful, but if she does she could be a paraplegic," Niko said softly.

"But will she survive?" Tank asked forcefully.

"She has lost her will to live."

"Is she stateside?"

"No, sir."

Tank never took his eyes off the Colonel, "Can I go to her. Is there time?"

"She's in a secret location." The Colonel tried to keep a calm voice.

Tank reiterated, "Can I go to her?"

The Colonel was impressed and thankful. This man could not be dissuaded and actually was deeply concerned and desperate. Pierre Sherman was their last hope to pull his sister back from death's door. Nikolaos had reviewed Pierre's military record as soon as he received Vassi's request. He was a warrior who stood in battle including special and black ops, received countless citations, and meant something very special to his sister. He also had mid- to high-level security clearance. Vassi was near death. Maybe this man could bring her back. His father agreed.

"Let me make some telephone calls. I'll contact you in a few hours. Do you have a safe number?"

Tank gave him the number of a burner phone. As they pulled up in front of Rangeman, Tank thrust his hand out, "Thank you."

"I'm not guaranteeing anything..."

"I know, but you'll try."

Once back on the 5th floor, Tank knocked on Ranger's door and waited to enter then shut the door. Ranger could tell something was wrong. Tank was the model of calm, but today his eyes showed concern. With the bugging, they were forced to talk obscurely.

"Boss, I just got word there's a family emergency."

"Who?" Ranger knew every one of Tank's family and came up with near zero.

"It is my cousin, the one you met at El Cam about 4 months ago. She's been injured severely."

Ranger understood the deception. Tank was referring to the Colonel. Her mission apparently went badly. "I'm very sorry" and truly he was. "Are you going to her?"

"There may be no time, plus there are travel complications."

Ranger showed real compassion for his friend, "Keep me informed, and Tank, I'm truly sorry." As Tank left the office, Ranger shook his head. The poor man has suffered all these years and when she suddenly reappears, he might lose her forever.

Stephanie came onto the fifth floor by way of the stairs. Working full time for Rangeman and working out in the gym had her wanting more exercise. She avoided the elevator now. As she opened the door she nearly ran into Tank's massive chest.

"Excuse me, Tank," she said but got no reply, not even a grunt. Tank's mind was elsewhere.

She crossed the control room and knocked on Ranger's office door before entering. "I just saw Tank. Is there something wrong?"

Ranger couldn't entirely rule out Stephanie being the one behind the bugging but was 99.9% sure she was clean. "He has a family emergency."

Stephanie mentally went through what she knew about Tank's private life and came up virtually empty. There was the Colonel he met in New Mexico and the brief fling with Lula, but they were not family. Tank never mentioned family. She was going to ask Ranger more but realized he had his head back down reading papers. She'd ask later and left.

A few hours later Tank's private line rang. He was in a coffee shop on Hamilton Ave. "Ft. Dix front gate, 2300 tonight. Bring nothing. You'll be gone 48 hours max. "

"Roger."

Returning to Rangeman and Ranger's office, Tank stepped in, "I need 48."

Ranger nodded.

After presenting his ID, the MP led Tank and his vehicle from the front gate to a parking area. The MP indicated a parking spot. "It will be secure here, sir." Tank was driven by the MP to the flight line and a hangar. The G650 jet with Swiss markings was waiting for the last passenger. Tank was searched after leaving the MP vehicle and again before boarding the plane. Ducking into the smaller aircraft, he saw Nikolaos Christofondodoulous. Taking his hand he said only, "Thank you."

Two other men also entered the plane and sat in the front. Tank saw two others in the back of the cabin. He figured they were security.

The first three hours of the flight nobody spoke. Tank watched the stars and figured they were heading generally east. That was not unexpected. During the three hours, Tank silently prayed. He was raised Catholic and, like most, had fallen away during his adolescence and time in the Army and mercenary work. But after seeing and enduring what he had, he found a sense of peace and refuge in his faith. He surprised himself how often he prayed and attended Mass.

He was deep in prayer when Nikolaos sat down next to him. They were quiet for a while. Tank knew the man next to him wanted to speak and would do so in his own time.

Nikolaos sat up straighter and took a breath, "I was surprised when my sister sent me the note adding you to her notification list. Vassi is very private. She gets along well within the Army but I know of nobody outside with whom she associates. So, of course, I did background checks on you. I, too, am in Intelligence, but not to the degree of my sister. It was your jaw that was broken back in the Philippines."

"Yes, sir."

"You were in Somalia."

"Yes." Tank remembered the spotter-sniper who protected them until they could withdraw but never saw him...or her.

"And North Korea?"

"I was carrying the dead medic back home. I don't remember much about the sniper suturing Ranger."

"And finally Nicaragua."

"Yes, sir, I remember too much about that mission. It continues to cause nightmares. The delays were maddening. Finally when we arrived we had to run through the jungle to get to the camp. I remember all the rebels were trying to find the snipers and didn't notice us at first. Dead bodies littered the camp and I mentally thanked the snipers for clearing the field for us. I didn't know it was just one sniper. I didn't remember the helicopter incident until she reminded me."

"Are you the one that got the Barrett?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know what happened to her after the bar incident in the Philippines?"

"She told us about the Court Martial and reassignment."

"I look at my life and my sister's and I wonder if I have the mental and physical strength to endure what she has throughout her life. I cannot think of one person any stronger than she, and I pray this will not be her end. She was such a happy child, we both were. She constantly laughed, mostly at herself. Then...well, it isn't fair someone should suffer so much. She needs peace and happiness."

Tank remained quiet and let the Colonel continue.

"We are twins. Our father is Army, now a Lt. General. We grew up as Army brats in a loving, happy family. Vassi was always a tomboy. She was like a brother. We'd hunt with our father. She could outshoot all of us, my father, mother and me. She hated ballet so my parents let her study Tae Kwon Do with me. She was a natural. She went on to study other disciplines. It seems whatever she studied, she excelled at it." He smiled at the memories. "You two were evenly matched in the Philippine bar, you had strength, training, and bulk; she had superior skills and far more agility, but I doubt either of you was out to win that day."

Tank sat and once again relived the Billabong bar incident and the tall MP Captain and how he didn't want to fight her and was reluctant to spar. She was a woman and an officer, but her eyes sparkled as she promised not to injure him. She moved differently than what he expected. Her movements were unconventional, loose and quick. Her skills were truly beyond his, she was pulling moves he had never seen before...then the hit to the jaw. He felt it, but put the pain aside. She didn't. Moaning as if in pain she mumbled, "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Quickly, she turned from fighter to medic. The touch of her hands, the care she took in rigging up the jaw support was so intense, he could still feel it. How well he remembered the feel of her body on his lap. Instantly, his body started to react to her and he couldn't stop it. Then there was the kiss. It wasn't a haphazard kiss, a little peck. It was a kiss with meaning.

After a while, the Colonel continued...

"We were in Egypt. Like typical 13-year-old adolescents, Vassi developed sexually faster than I did. She looked to be at least 16, especially with her height. I was truly her little brother at that point. My father was part of a military mission and the family tagged along for a vacation. We did the museums, Nile, Pyramids, Karnack, and camel ride. The last night, Vassi was sick so our mother decided to sleep with her, and I slept with my father. Sometime in the middle of the night, someone entered the hotel room, first killing the security men outside our door, then shooting my mother in the head and kidnapping Vassi. If I had been in that room, I'd be dead."

Tank was stunned.

"We brought Mom back to the States to bury her and I went to St. Basil's Academy near West Point. Dad returned to Cairo. After a while, the Egyptians closed the investigation saying my sister was probably sold in some world-wide slave trade and untraceable."

Tank said nothing, he'd let the horror story play out.

"Mossad contacted my father. They wanted to know if he needed their help. He had no contact with Mossad prior to that, working only with the Israeli government and military. Of course, he said yes.

"About two months later, Mossad brought Vassi to Tel Aviv. She had been horribly abused. The bastard who had her kidnapped was the doctor brother of the high-ranking, Egyptian Army General who shut down the investigation. The bastard got her pregnant and when she miscarried, she became frightened and fought back. He flogged her nearly to death." Nikolaos paused to regain control. "The Israeli doctors and psychiatrists started to put her back together and she joined me at St. Basil's. After five years, we graduated. She wanted to go to West Point. My father was not in favor at all, but it turned out she needed structure in her life, chain of command. She and I both went to the Academy.

"She was studying law to become a JAG but asked for training in MPs and CID before completing her law degree. Her evaluations were glowing...until the Philippines."

Niko continued, "The Court Martial was a travesty, but it was the opportunity needed to root out military brass doing the bidding of a Senator and his cabal.

"Thankfully, the Leavenworth sentence didn't stand. Instead, the Senator made certain she was in Hell and hopefully died there. She became a foreign operative and sometime assassin. She did her job well but became solitary and morose. Then came Nicaragua. While waiting for your team to arrive, she watched two local men tortured, abused and throats slit but she couldn't stop it. When it was Carlos Manoso's turn, someone she recognized from Billabong bar, Somalia and North Korea, she snapped. Way before your team arrived, she began firing. She shot the three officers through a window then turned the Barrett on the camp. You saw the results. It was returning to the transport site where she was shot. Mentally, she was back in that hellhole in Egypt. She needed to escape even if it meant death. You grabbed her and held her, allowing her mind to return, at least partially. When the helicopter landed, she was going off to die and wanted you to have her beloved Barrett. She collapsed on the C130. The loadmaster got her medical help."

"She knew me?"

"First, she recognized Manoso, as someone from the Philippines. Then you came into the rebel camp."

The Colonel stopped for a few minutes to stabilize his emotions. He resumed, "It was just before Nicaragua when the whole situation regarding Simpson blew up. The Senator, foreign and domestic businessmen were bribing Senior Staff to do their deeds. The kickbacks were very generous. The general of her Court Martial admitted he was only doing Senator Simpson's bidding. Her conviction was overturned. She didn't know and without you, would have died. With the exoneration, she held on and rebuilt herself…again. She left field intelligence and joined me. Her mind is like an ever-evolving machine but with field experience; she is cagey, thinks not only off-planet but in an entirely different universe. She's done wonders for our intelligence capability."

Niko paused, went to the galley and returned with two bottles of water. "She wasn't on an Army mission. She was working for Mossad. This is their aircraft, their guards."

"Mossad?"

"She does work with them, with Washington's approval, but I think she goes beyond what the brass knows...the brass being our father. She says she owes Mossad her life. She nearly died in Egypt years ago and you saved her in Nicaragua. Now, she is again seriously injured but this time she went into the mission expecting, maybe even wanting, to die. It will take something special to pull her back. We are hoping it is you."

"I barely know her."

"Pierre, she divested herself of everything save her most private, personal files. Those she sent to me. She has been looking in on you for years. Not stalking, just keeping you in her sights. One of the reasons she's been willing to work with Silvio, other than she was his commanding officer, is his association with you and Carlos Manoso. Her flash signals to you on Sundays were the only time she has reached out to anyone other than Silvio."

"You know about those?"

"We discussed how she could pull them off."

"Colonel, I admit, I've thought about her often since the Philippines. I tried to learn her name but got nowhere. Every time I inquired, I was shut down."

"It was the dirty general in the Court Martial. He was afraid the defense would locate you, Manoso and others on the team to repudiate Simpson's claims and reopen the case. The general, at Senator Simpson's bidding, went to great trouble to keep you, Manoso, Harold Olsen, and the others buried deep. He found ways to send you or your team on difficult missions. I suspect he thought you'd be killed, but you were an exemplary team."

Tank was surprised this Army Colonel knew so much about him, Ranger and Hal. "The Sunday signals, are you the only one who knew about them?"

"No, Silvio, your man in Miami, was monitoring them for backwash...somebody trying to backtrack."

"Why didn't Silvio say anything?"

"He was sworn to secrecy. Many of the search and security programs you use at Rangeman, she wrote, just for Rangeman and gave to Silvio to take credit."

"Why?" Now Tank understood how the messages came in on his private email. Only the Core Team and Silvio had the address.

"You. All I can think is love at first sight or infatuation," Nikolaos said with a small smile. "I never knew my sister to show interest in anyone, except you."

Tank was stunned. Was that what happened to him as well? His life is solitary, too. Was this the reason?

Nikolaos controlled the emotion in his voice by lowering it, "Dad and I as well as Ari hope you can bring her back."

"Ari?"

"He is the head of Mossad now and the one who carried her out of that hellhole in Egypt. He considers VC his adopted daughter. He sent her to Syria knowing she could die. I can't begin to imagine the pain he must be feeling, even worse than Dad's and mine."

AN/ I promise next chapter we begin to tackle the Rangeman bugging.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

" **Dad and I, as well as Ari, hope you can bring her back."**

The G650 arrived at an Air Force base in Israel and Tank was whisked to a Tel Aviv hospital. There was no passport check. Technically, Tank wasn't in the country.

At the hospital door, Tank was met by a man introducing himself only as Ari. This was the man responsible for sending her on the mission. Having been in a command position himself, Tank understood the despair in the man's eyes. The weight of Vassi's condition, plus that of his country's safety must weigh heavy heavily on him.

"Thank you for coming, Pierre. I hope you have brought the spark to reset her life."

"How is she?"

"She is in between life and the beyond. The doctors say she should be getting better, but she isn't. When a person decides to die, it is nearly impossible to bring them back. We hope you can."

Tank noted the hospital room was bright but the blinds were set to reflect light to the ceiling. There were no respiratory machines only the silenced monitoring of heartbeat, oxygen level, and blood pressure. A tall, older man with lighter Mediterranean skin who resembled Nikolaos was seated on the far side, holding Vassi's hand and talking to her. She was unresponsive. Her eyes were half closed, seeing nothing.

The General looked up, carefully laid Vassi's hand down, kissed her forehead, and rose walking towards Tank, "Pierre, thank you for coming. I'm George, Vassi's father."

Tank nodded and noted the General, like Ari, did not use his last names or rank. This was a personal matter. "Sir, I had to come."

"You need to talk to her doctor first. Let him explain what is going on."

Dr. Elios had been across the room and came forward, "I was waiting for the helicopter when it landed. We have been working on an experimental spinal treatment but need to start the treatment as soon as possible from the injury's occurrence. We believe VC was within that early treatment window. I'll be honest, the treatment is painful and after-effects extremely uncomfortable for days after. I believe her state now is due, in part, to the severity of the treatment. If we stop, she will be a paraplegic. We hope you can bring her back and impress upon her that the treatment improves her chances of using her legs again. But it only improves the chances. There's no guarantee it will work. All her other injuries will heal, but we need her to want to live first."

Great, Tank thought I've got to reignite her will to live and convince her to continue with painful treatments that probably won't work. Tank walked over to the bed and saw the woman who shared her green chile stew with him months before. She had lost weight, her color was poor. Though her eyes were partially open, she was not acknowledging people or sounds.

Instinctively, he bent his tall body over hers, looking directly into her blank eyes, "VC, I've been waiting for my Sunday message." No response. He kissed her. No response. The others realized this could take time and left. Nikolaos looked back at his sister and silently wept.

Tank remained standing, "I got Maria to share her green chile stew recipe with me. I brought home chile to roast. My neighbors were wondering what the stink was."

Tank sat down, this would take time. For the first hour, Tank rattled on. He could have been reading the telephone book for all the response it brought. He kissed her lips or her hands and whispered into her ears. Was there brain damage that had not been diagnosed? Hour after hour he told her about his childhood, some of his Army career, how Rangeman came into being, about the men and Stephanie, and some of the crazy things that have happened over the years. Finally, he admitted to her his deep feelings for her since Billabong bar and especially since Alamogordo. He continued to kiss her. He noticed her father or doctor looking in from time to time, but they backed away out of respect.

It had been hours and she was not responding. After the last visitor looked in, he started stated how pleased he was with his nickname, Tank. "When others in the Army heard it, they immediately thought I was in an armor unit. Several First Cavalry men welcomed me to their ranks, unofficially of course, and taught me the First Cav poem. Have you heard it VC? It's called Fiddler's Green. Up until now, it was entertaining. Now, I fear, you might be part of it."

Halfway down the trail to Hell,  
In a shady meadow green  
Are the Souls of all dead Troopers camped,  
Near a good old-time canteen.  
And this eternal resting place  
Is known as Fiddler's Green.

"I'm not going to finish it for you. I can't bear the thought you might be one of those marching past Fiddler's Green." He began to weep.

"VC, ever since adolescence, women have been afraid of me, except for a former whore named Lula. She was raised on the streets, like me. Most of the men she knew were pimps. I was the first black man who wasn't a threat to her but she also looked at me as a sexual conquest. I didn't mind, she was fun for a while. But I wanted something better. I've always wanted something better.

In school, I studied hard, applied myself to become more than a gang member or pimp on the street. I had no interest in team sports, disappointing the football and basketball coaches. I watched professional athletes earn millions and blow it all away on big houses, cars, women, and drugs. Without sports, I had no money for college, so I selected the Army as a way to get off the streets and make something of myself.

The Army's good part was that I had shelter most of the time, food, and friends who weren't trying to kill me. The bad part was that it was nothing short of Hell. I had seen bad things on the street, but nothing like combat. I've done things…as I know you have a well. I pray neither of us goes to Hell as there's no Fiddler's Green for us."

Tank paused to regroup, "When Rick asked me to leave being a mercenary and help him start a security company, I enrolled in college to learn business while he worked as a bounty hunter to earn money. I continue studying to this day, always improving myself mentally. But my heart went to a lovely MP Captain in the Philippines. Rick has told me over and over, the chances of finding you were zero, but I prayed one day you would return. Then one glorious day in Alamogordo, you were there with me again, more radiant and beautiful than I remembered. You seemed to be as excited to see me as I was to find you. Your kiss in the parking lot reignited my hopes we could finally be together. But here you are, hanging between life and death, hopefully not preparing to march past Fiddler's Green and taking my heart with you.

The big man began to cry again. "VC, don't give up. Please come back, back to me. I've waited for years to find you. We have a life ahead of us. Please, my love, come back," he begged.

-0-

What was that deep rumble? It makes the pounding in my head even worse. Gradually, I realized someone talking. The words were indecipherable. Every so often something brushed my lips or played with my hair. There was a fragrance from something in the past. The light had shadows move through it. I wanted to follow them but eye movement was like daggers to my brain.

I felt a hand on my face, cupping my chin. Who was this? The skin was dark. Is Mama here? Has she come for me? The voice was deep. Papa? I became aware of my breathing and tried to take in a little more with each breath. I had to clear the fog in my brain and eyes.

"Hi there," came the deep rumble.

I stared at him.

"I've been rambling on here wondering if you were listening."

The face was familiar. I continued to stare at him.

"VC?" He didn't know what to ask. "Do you know who I am?"

I turned my head and immediately felt a thousand daggers pierce my head. I squinted and looked to the window.

"Do you want a darker room?"

I blinked once.

Rising, he went to the window and found a way to darken the window it. I followed him with my eyes. Was he a giant?

"Is that better?"

I blinked again. This dark man seemed familiar.

He sat and looked at me, "Your brother, Nikolaos came to Trenton. I was afraid he came to tell me you had died." The mystery man hung his head for a moment, "I just found you after all these years in Alamogordo and then..."

Nikolaos? Trenton? Alamogordo? They sounded familiar. I watched this giant, dark-skinned man actually cry. I didn't understand what he was saying but his sobs tore my heart. I moaned, "Noooooo."

"I'll stop crying if you kiss me."

What was he saying? I moved my head a bit though it hurt like hell.

He leaned over, what was he doing? His lips touched mine. The salty tears were on his lips. Why was his kissing me? The kiss felt familiar. Was this Pierre?

I watched him. He spoke, but I didn't understand. I squinted to indicate he needed to say it again.

I heard "Kiss again." I smiled a bit.

He leaned in and gave me a tender, longer-lasting kiss. "That's a good start. I don't want to be too bold."

I tried to smile. I finally knew who he was. The smell, the kiss, the skin tone, the deep, bass rumble, it had to be Pierre. Is he dead too? Oh Pierre what has happened? I started to cry.

"Oh baby, don't cry. Only I'm allowed to cry."

-0-

It was time to return to my daughter's room. I hoped Pierre was able to bring her back from death's door. As Nikolaos and I stepped into the room, we noted Pierre was more relaxed and appeared to be conversing with my daughter. She had turned her head and was looking at him! My son noted his sister's change as well. Individually we both crossed ourselves and whispered _Doxa Theos,_ Praise God.

Nobody knew what Pierre and Vassi were talking about but by the end of the twenty-four-hour visit she was aware and conversing a single word at a time. She smiled at her brother, Ari and me. My daughter has returned...again.

I took Pierre aside, "Son, I don't know how to thank you. You have brought Vassi back to us."

"General Christofondodoulous, sir," Tank began, "Would you keep me apprised of her condition?"

"Of course I will, Pierre. You two should never be apart," I promised.

Tank nodded in agreement, almost shyly. "I'd like to communicate with her here when she is better able to speak. When she is moved to back to the States, please let me know. I want to be with her. If that means I have to move to Maryland, Texas, or wherever, I will."

I was touched. "Son, I will see what I can do to get her as close as possible to you. You've done so much for us already."

Tank turned to Vassi, "My love, my time to be with you is over. I have to leave. I know the treatments are painful but promise me you will not give up. When you return to the States, you and I will work together on your rehabilitation."

My daughter looked confused.

"Dear VC, I can't stay any longer, your father will explain. Sweetheart, please work to get better so…." Pierre bent over and whispered in her ear. She looked at him with hope in her eyes.

Suddenly, we all had hope. VC was going to fight. I know personally when my daughter makes up her mind, Heaven and Hell better look out. Nothing will stop her.

Ari went up to Tank and shook his hand. "Thank you. Two simple words but they convey my deepest gratitude from for what you have done, Mr. Sherman."

Dr. Elios was also grateful. "Thank you. Keep her in your prayers. She is not yet out of danger, but now she will fight."

 **Back in Trenton**

"How is she?" Ranger asked with his eyebrow pointing to a known microphone.

"The doctors finally have hope. She's paralyzed but may regain some movement. It will take a lot of rehab, both physical and mental."

Ranger could see the pain and concern in Tank's eyes. Where would it lead? "Do you think Bobby could help?"

"I hadn't considered it. It will be a while before she is brought back Stateside. Even then, I don't know where they will send her. Wherever it is, I want to be there, with her."

Ranger understood. If it were Stephanie in such a situation, he, too, would insist on being at her side. "She has been, and will continue to be, in my prayers," Ranger said, compassionately. He may be a hard ass in front of his men, but he had and Tank had developed a familial relationship.

Tank nodded and left the office but immediately ran into Stephanie. "How is your family member?"

It was a good thing Tank could quickly close down to a blank face as he was momentarily confused by the question. He realized Ranger had told her Tank's disappearance was a family issue. "We hope she recovers," he mumbled.

"What happened?"

"Accident," and he walked away.

If it were anyone other than Tank, she might have sought more information, but Tank kept his secrets close to his vest. She suspected that was one reason why he and Lula split. Lula couldn't hold her tongue like everyone else in the Burg. Stephanie knew more about Tank, his private physique, and sexual needs than she really wanted to know. The man was due his privacy.

 **In the Tel Aviv hospital:**

Twice a week, Pierre and I conversed by phone. He was an amazing cheerleader, sensing my various moods and keeping me upbeat from thousands of miles away. The conversations were long. We laughed at the antics of the Rangemen and especially Ranger's girlfriend whom I met in Alamogordo. Bombshell Bounty Hunter seemed an appropriate nickname. In Tank's talks, I sensed there was another woman that Tank may have dated but the woman was no longer in the picture. I learned about his cats and actually looked forward to meeting them. I've never had a pet and couldn't imagine living with an animal, let alone three.

After two months, I was moved to a VA hospital in Newark. I was surprised not to be going to Maryland near my father and brother or to Texas and the VA spinal treatment center. Dr. Elios explained his colleague in the research worked out of New York City. Papa explained the Newark VA was the closest to Pierre and New York City. I suspected there was a lot more bargaining involved and Papa's three stars were probably used to modify VA regulations.

I hadn't been in my Newark room more than an hour when Pierre walked in. He shook hands with my father and brother as if they had met before. I didn't remember Pierre's visit to Tel Aviv. After Papa and Niko returned to Washington, Tank kept me company for several days at a time. He was staying with Ranger's family nearby. He did need to return to Trenton from time to time which corresponded with my spinal infusion. There was no way I wanted him around for my misery.

For one visit, he brought his colleague, Dr. Bobby Brown. The staff was surprised and welcomed the doctor as if he was at the hospital often. I soon learned he was a well-known specialist in military and first responder rehabilitation. After serious consultations between Dr. Elios in Israel, his associate Dr. David Segal in NYC, Dr. Hiram Goldberg at the VA, my therapists, the VA, US Army, Pierre, Dr. Bobby Brown, Ranger and my father, my brother and me, it was decided I would move to Trenton into a Rangeman apartment to work with Dr. Brown. I'm sure high-level, diplomatic summit conferences weren't as complicated.

The second reason for me to move into Rangeman was to discover who was continually bugging the Rangeman building. Operating normally for months, knowing the office was constantly being bugged must be frustrating. Hector and Manuel made a point of "finding" a few with every week or so but leaving the others untouched. Each new listening device was more advanced than the rest. This whole bugging business had gone on far too long.

Before I moved to Trenton, the men and women at Rangeman were told Dr. Brown was part of a medical experiment on spinal cord injuries and he'd be overseeing the treatment of an Army officer. When it was revealed the officer was female, all were reminded I was to be treated with respect due a senior officer and a lady.

"Well, it's not the Ritz," Pierre told me as he wheeled me into the third-floor apartment next to the medical clinic. I had heard the term "Ritz" but wasn't sure how it applied to this unusually large, studio apartment. It was simple, modified for my needs. Someone had made an attempt at creating a feminine color-coordinated studio apartment. The large hospital bed was partially hidden from view by a screen. A peachy-toned comforter with matching pillows on a neutral colored couch was an attempt to brighten the room as the only window faced north. A side chair was in the same neutral color. There was no coffee table to interfere with the wheelchair. Two side tables held lamps. I had a modern open desk to work at and a small table with chairs with print cushions in the same peachy tones. The clothes closet rods were lower than usual for me to reach, the dresser wasn't too deep. At my request, there was no television. I had never become addicted to the Boob Tube. The bathroom was modified for handicap with a no-barrier shower, roll-under sink with a lower set mirror, higher toilet and grab bars. Rangeman had gone to great expense to make me feel comfortable, but my mood was dour.

"It is fine," I said somewhat sadly.

"What's wrong? We can get something larger, change the colors, whatever you want," Tank quickly asked as he squatted down in front of me.

"I'd rather be back working again. The Army is all I've ever known and now suddenly it is so far away and probably gone."

"Rangeman is run on military principles. I believe you will feel comfortable here with the regiment regimen. Plus, I'm close by."

I smiled and decided to can the foul attitude. It would accomplish nothing. Touching his face, "Yes, after all these years I finally get to know you, Pierre. I'm sorry it is from this lower perspective."

He leaned over and gave me a very satisfying kiss. That put a real smile on my face as well as his. There was definitely something growing between us since I got to Newark, but was he remembering the Vassi who could walk and flight fight hand-to-hand with him? The reality I might be in this chair for the rest of my life hadn't totally penetrated my mind and, I doubt, his.

"My beloved," he said shyly. He was finding being affectionate as difficult as I. "Would you call me Tank when we are in public? They The guys know me by that name. I was kidded unmercifully as a child as Pierre. Now, I only enjoy hearing Pierre from your lips, privately."

I wiggled my eyebrows, "How private?"

He shook his head and chuckled as he stood back up. Dang, I didn't get an answer.

Dr. Brown sat with me the first day, "First of all, around here I am called Bobby. We are big on nicknames here. We don't need one for you, VC works fine. As for your stay with us, we are going to jump hard on your rehabilitation. Your prior therapy was mild, allowing for any lasting fractures and injuries to heal. Now, we get serious. Either Tank or I will take you to Newark for the treatments and you'll recover here. You'll get 2 to 2 1/2 days to recover and then back into the gym for 10 hours a day. Initially, they will be only a few hours at a time with rests between. I want to get into 10 hours straight gym-time as soon as you are able." I remained impassive. "Three, one-hour rest periods per day: that's rest, flat on your back. Meals, hygiene are all accounted for. You will sleep 7-8 hours at night. This allows for only one hour free time per day. Do you have any questions or comments, ma'am?"

I knew I outranked everyone in the building but I was a guest here. There was no way I'd insult my hosts by pulling rank.

"Yes, sir," I said putting him back in command. "I'd like several hours a week to attend church. I'd rather not start immediately but would like to work that into the schedule as I get stronger."

"Agreed."

After dinner, I had guests. Ranger Manoso and Stephanie Plum came to welcome me to Rangeman. Stephanie appeared more fit that than I remembered her in Alamogordo but the same long, curly hair and those incredible blue eyes. They brought an apartment warming gift, a houseplant. I blinked at the gift, "Does it come with instructions? I've never tended a plant."

Stephanie shrugged, "Me, either. I suspect it needs to be in front of the window and requires water once in a while. Ella will know. That lady is amazing; she knows everything."

I had met Ella and was impressed by her competence and warmth. "Yes, I believe she is the one who designed my accommodations and oversaw installation. Not only is she a good designer and supervisor, but she also makes a delicious vegetable ragout."

"I wouldn't know, I don't eat many vegetables," Stephanie said flippantly. I thought I saw frustration in Ranger's eyes.

"Stephanie, my kidneys were damaged and I must stay away from animal products and grains. I've always avoided sugar and most starchy carbs, so its veggies, a few fruits, and some beans."

Laughing, she said, "You'll fit right in around here. Is it an Army thing?"

"No, ma'am. We demand more of our bodies with physical or mental exertion or, in my case, healing. Meats and fats are detrimental to those with my type of injuries."

"But you need meat for muscle," she argued.

"That is a weightlifters' and athletes' myth, or excuse, to overeat. Most who engage in the destructive protein packing show kidney decline starting in early adulthood. Doctors don't mention the destruction until the dysfunction approaches critical."

"Don't you get hungry?"

"Hardly. Most food these days is lacking nutrients. The soils are low in natural minerals so the produce or animal feed today is less nutritious than it was decades ago. Then we strip away more nutrients in processing the crops. For example, grains lose their bran to make white flour or the food is heated for preservation. Granted, preservation is critical for food safety, but it comes with nutrient loss."

"So what do you eat?"

"I stay close to natural products, avoiding as much processing as possible. So the produce is fresh or frozen, not canned. On the plus side, I can literally eat until I feel like I'm going to burst and find I haven't exceeded my caloric limit."

"What about the ragout, wasn't it cooked?"

"I'm not keen on raw eggplant," I chuckled. "Yes, it was cooked and served in its own juices. Any nutrients that leached out were in the liquid, not drained away."

"No cheese?"

"No cheese."

"Have you always been a food purist?"

"Oh, no," I chuckled. "I grew up on peanut butter sandwiches, spaghetti, fried anything, giant hamburgers, and birthday cakes, too. I've moved past the children's food. To be my best, I've had to refuel with the best."

"Children's food?" she asked. Was that what she was still eating?

"Children's palettes are more sensitive and don't tolerate some vegetables like members of the Cruciferae family or crucifers: cabbage, broccoli or cauliflower unless drowned in sugar or fats like butter or cheese. By age ten, the fats and sugars should be dropped and healthy eating begun. But children become addicted to fats and sugars or use food as a psychological crutch. By adolescence, the habits are firmly entrenched and nearly impossible to break."

Stephanie sat back for a moment to think. Psychological crutch? Was she still trying to find comfort in childhood foods because her mother was so cold and demanding?

"Prior to this," I said, waving my hand at the wheelchair, "I limited fatty meats and fried foods to very rarely, like a few times a year. Maybe someday I'll be able to do that again. Oh, I'd love to tuck into a good Southern fried chicken, but it might be past me now."

"What about Italian food?"

"Oh, there are some wonderful soups and salads made with vegetables and beans. Not everything Italian is served with olive oil, cheese, pasta, or red gravy."

Stephanie almost gagged. Everyone knew olive oil, cheese, pasta, and red gravy were the pillars of in an Italian food diet, at least in the Burg. Ranger's eyes danced in amusement. "Yeah, you'll fit in around here," she huffed.

Ranger stood and shook my hand, "Welcome to Rangeman, Colonel. I hope the rehab goes well."

"Mr. Manoso, please call me VC."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I greatly respect command structure."

"Ranger," I shot back, dropping the Mr. Manoso, "I'm not in command, this is not the Army! Heck, I'll probably be booted out shortly anyway. It's VC, or you could call me 'Sweet Lips' like Tank does."

I swear Ranger blushed. Stephanie did all she could to keep from laughing. Now, I needed to tell Tank my little joke so he could be on board. I'm not sure he was ready to use the term himself.

Tank laughed a full roaring laugh, "You really didn't say that did you?"

"It sorta fell out. Blame all the drugs in me. Normally, I'd never say such a thing, let alone to Manoso," I said as I hid my face in my hands. It was a girly move, but lately my hormones have been running wild. Not so much lust, though there was a fair amount of those that, more like a suppressed adolescent. I was warned by the doctors to expect mood swings, all part of the experimental drugs.

Also, I was having nightmares from Syria, Nicaragua, Egypt and the four years at St. Basil's. I was extremely troubled at the school, of course, and gave the staff a very hard time. Good thing the adults were trained to work with children in crisis because I fit the bill. More than once, Niko had to hunt me down as I was hiding in the woods and comfort me as I cried. Often, he cried with me. Once, I was so desperate to see my father who had accepted a two-year teaching position at West Point, across the river, I attempted to swim the Hudson to reach the west side and West Point. We could see the citadel from St. Basil's. The MPs saw my attempt and put out the boat to rescue me before I was swept all the way down to Manhattan. I had a soft spot for MPs after that.

"Do you want me to call you 'Sweet Lips'?" he asked as he pried my hands away from my face. Bobby warned him I might have meltdowns.

"You may call me anything you want, Pierre, as long as it's said with respect and love," I smiled a tiny smile.

He chuckled and kissed my lips, "I like the term and it fits. But I'd best be careful where I use it. We don't want Lester to pick up on it."

-0-

The shower floor was cold, thank heavens. I was burning up due to the spinal treatment. The initial hours after treatment caused my body to run a fever. Only an extra-large towel draped over my naked body kept me modest. I had returned from Newark eleven hours ago. I knew what the after-effects would be and so did Dr. Brown, er, Bobby. He had been with me on earlier treatments in Newark. It was one thing to spend 48 hours with feeling as if my skin was on fire, intense nausea, room spinning and head pounding in a hospital, but here I was in a private apartment and I would have to do more self-care. The shower seemed a logical point: it had water for cooling, a drain for when the dry heaves weren't dry, the tile was cool, and I didn't risk falling out of bed. I was already on the floor.

I didn't hear Bobby or Tank enter the apartment or bathroom. Gratefully, they didn't flick on the light. The light would have fried my brain. A night light was the room's only illumination. Tank started to rush to me, but Bobby held him back. Instead, Bobby came and felt my pulse and checked my eyes. "Are you ready to get to bed?"

'Noooooo," I groaned.

"The anti-nausea med will help now. The call button is just to your right if you need something or when you are ready to move to the bed."

I grunted and even that was about all the energy I could muster.

"Bobby?" Tank questioned.

"It's the side effects of the treatments; paresthesia or the burning sensation, nausea and a killer migraine. The burning sensation and nausea should stop within a few hours; then it's only the migraine. That could last another 24 hours."

"I never saw her like this in Newark."

"No, she wanted to keep it from you for as long as possible. She didn't want you upset."

"Me? I'm not the one on the floor. Why the shower?"

"She can't get to the toilet quickly. Plus, with a migraine, she won't want to lift her head from horizontal. It is the spinal fluid imbalance plus the chemical cocktail."

Bobby pinched my skin, "I'm going to start an IV and add the anti-nausea drip. You are getting dehydrated."

"Groaaannnn," I answered.

He chuckled, "You are going to have to enlarge your vocabulary."

"Fu' You."

"Is that Mandarin or Cantonese?" After Bobby inserted the needle, he talked to Tank, "She is the only one to have lasted this long in the treatment regime. All the others have failed because of these side effects."

"I hope there are upsides to this," stated Tank.

"Mesu," I moaned from the shower floor. Even talking hurt my head.

After 6 hours, Tank carried me to the bed. It was the first time I was naked in front of him and he could see my scars. I was too sick to be embarrassed. I had lost a lot of weight since leaving Alamogordo. Right now, I was skinny. I don't believe I strained him in the least.

Bobby checked my vitals, "Hopefully, she'll sleep through most of the migraine. I'll keep checking on her."

Tank hung back as Bobby walked to the door. The big man leaned over me and whispered, "Sleep now Sweet Lips," and gently kissed me.

Near the end of the migraine session, I noticed Bobby sitting next to my bed. I whispered, "I'm going to skin the doctors that came up with this torture."

Bobby chuckled, "Glad to see you have your sense of humor back."

"What humor?"

Once the migraine had ended, I was weak, but I knew I had to get moving, so to speak. Tank rewarded me with a trip outside to the city park and a stroll around the duck pond. Stopping to share a sliced apple with Tank, I spied a large reddish dog making a beeline towards us. Far in the distance, the dog's owner was calling to the dog. "Uh oh, hide your food, that's Bob the food thief."

Sure enough, the red dog leaped right onto my lap and began sniffing my hands. I laughed and hugged the dog. It was the first time Tank had heard me laugh since Alamogordo. "Hello, handsome. You want an apple slice?" Instantly, the tiny slice disappeared down the dog's throat and he gave me a look of "What else do you have?" That earned more hugs and laughs.

By then, the owner had reached us, "Geez, I'm sorry about that. This dog can smell food a mile away."

Bob started licking my face, "What's his name?"

The man looked at Tank. There was no kindness in either man's eyes towards each other. The jogger looked back to me, "Bob."

"He's really nasty tempered, isn't he?" I laughed as Bob continued licking my chin.

The man gave a little smile.

"What is he? Golden Retriever, Irish Setter, and what?"

The man shrugged his shoulders, "Wookie is all I can figure."

It was exactly what I was thinking. "And who is Bob's owner?" I inquired.

Tank groaned quietly. There must be some serious issues between them.

"Joe Morelli, ma'am, and you are?"

"VC"

"Just VC?"

"My name is a tongue twister: Vassiliki Chrystofondodoulos."

"I'll stick with VC."

"Most do."

"And how do you know him?" Morelli asked as his eyes pointed to Tank.

Obviously, this man and Tank were not on friendly terms. "Mr. Sherman has graciously offered to escort me on a little vitamin D sunshine stroll. He volunteers his time with injured soldiers. I'm undergoing rehab for my spinal injury."

Morelli looked incredulous, "You volunteer your time with the vets?"

Tank ignored him.

"I am still active military service but on medical leave, but that's probably just a formality now. Mr. Morelli, what do you do?"

"I'm a police detective here in Trenton. Currently, I'm working homicides."

"Is there much call for your services here?" I asked.

"Far too much, I'm sorry to say."

I found him wanting to be freer in talking, but Tank's presence bothered him. He kept glancing at Tank as if he expected trouble.

Somewhere, Bob had leaped off my lap and wandered out into the duck pond and gotten himself stuck and began to whimper.

Joe Morelli sighed, "I've got the only retriever afraid of water. Excuse me, I need to rescue him."

Laughing, I said, "Must be the Wookie part. I would hate to have Bob get into further trouble. Nice meeting you and your hydrophobic retriever." With that, Tank began pushing me down the road and Joe rolled his pants legs up and waded out into the pond to retrieve his retriever.

"I sense trouble between you and Joe."

"Long story, racial BS. Also, he thinks Rangemen are thugs from Jersey Penal."

"Not from what I've seen. Are there any?"

"No thugs, but a few made some mistakes in the past. You'll eventually meet Hector, he's our IT-security systems guy."

I smiled, "Detective Morelli has a narrow opinion of people: good and bad, no grey areas. Is he a pillar of virtue?"

Tank scoffed, "Hardly. He loves himself and his dick. Excuse my crudeness."

"I sense there are more to problems with Joe than racial BS and prejudice towards Rangeman."

"He and Stephanie were an on-again, off-again item for a few years. She grew up with him here in Trenton and got together with him about the same time she met Ranger. She was conflicted between the two from the start. She seems to be over Joe, finally. I'm not sure Joe is over her, but he seems to be moving on."

"Are Stephanie and Ranger married?"

"Not yet," he laughed. "She finally gave up her apartment and moved in with Ranger. It was a big step getting Joe out of the middle of their lives. She has told her mother to kiss off and is finally overcoming the guilt. Mrs. Plum kept pushing Steph to marry Joe."

"Does her mother realize she is living with Ranger?"

"I suspect she prefers to assume Stephanie still lives in an apartment on St. James. They don't talk to one another anymore. We were surprised and grateful when she gave up the apartment. It had become a nexus for crazies, bombs, grenades, dead bodies, and snakes. It is better she remains hidden than the Burg learns her location and try to bomb Rangeman."

"Bombs? You are kidding, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately, no. She worked as a bond apprehension agent, but her attempts at getting the fugitives didn't go smoothly, allowing them a chance to fight back. She didn't have the training. Now that she is a Rangeman, criminal elements know you mess with Rangeman we will come for you and dispose of your body so even your Mama can't find you."

"I doubt you've had to use that form of retribution too often before the word got around."

He chuckled, "Not for several years in this country."

We got back to the park's parking lot. "So, I now volunteer my time to help veterans?" he asked.

"Soldiers on medical leave...but I will probably be a disabled veteran soon," I sighed.

"Remember the upside: you'll be closer to me," he smiled and gently kissed my cheek.

I smiled, "Sounds promising, Mr. Sherman. Just how close were you planning to be?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

" **Remember the upside; you'll be closer to me."**

In my one-hour-a-day free time, which of course I extended to 2 or 3 hours when possible by cutting out the sleep, I began building a computer suited to my very specific needs. Rangeman's bugging was a high priority. Somebody was persistent. I wasn't too far along in my computer when I found the listening and video devices in my room. When Pierre came to visit I handed him a note explaining my room was bugged but couldn't talk about it directly. He nodded.

"Pierre, these look like something electronic exploded in my room. Maybe the previous resident dropped his stereo system or Play Station." I hope whoever bugged me was listening.

"I'll have Hector come up and look."

A Latino or Hispanic man came to the room. He was about 5'9", well-toned and walked gracefully; the type you didn't want to get in hand-to-hand combat with as his body would be flexible and quick. His most noticeable traits were the gang tattoos especially the teardrop tattoos below one eye. This may be one of the former Jersey penal graduates. I knew the tattoos' meaning and was unaffected. After all, I had done worse for my country and another.

"This is Hector Herrera. He will check your apartment for any other electronic debris. We'll step outside and let him work." The man nodded to me.

Not knowing if the hall was bugged, our conversation remained neutral. "Is he one of the exceptions you mentioned in the park?"

"Yes. He only speaks Spanish but everyone here also speaks the language. It is a prerequisite what with all the Latinos moving into the area."

He obviously was their electronic tech but he only speaks Spanish? That didn't sound efficient. I raised an eyebrow to indicate he needed to elaborate.

"He's also a whiz in designing and building security systems. He has a big work area in the basement. He does field work. While he wears a handgun per regulation, he's a knife expert and ruthless. He scares the crap out of us."

"But only speaks Spanish….?"

"Yeah, he's our Latino Ninja," Pierre said. After a moment he winked at me.

Ah, I understood. Hector spoke English but only a few people knew. I continued with Tank's dialog, "Silent killer who gets in close as opposed to someone with a big gun who works from a distance," I laughed. "Of course you guys are scared shitless."

"And you?" he asked.

"I'll pacify him with my charms."

We discussed menus from Ella, our next Vitamin D excursion, anything to pass the time and bore any eavesdroppers. A few minutes later Hector emerged from my apartment with an isolation box to blind and deafen any bugs. Looking squarely at the box I asked, " _Tienes todo?_ " (You have all?")

Hector looked surprised for a moment but then shut down his expressions and nodded.

" _Por favor, examina mi silla_?" I asked, pointing to my chair.

He waved his electronic wand over the chair, pausing at my lap where I was sitting on my computer. I winked.

" _Nada,_ " he said as he looked at my lap in particular.

" _Seis?_ " I whispered. (Six?) I wasn't sure there weren't microphones in the hall and didn't want my conversation recorded.

" _Sí, son los mismos que los demás_." (Yes, like the others)

" _Y_ _Aqui?_ " I said with a smirk and my finger pointing to my buttocks.

His eyes laughed, " _No hay errores allí._ " (No bugs there.)

He shook his head as he walked away. Tank would have to have a secret talk with him and explain what I was doing at Rangeman and why I was sitting on a computer but not before I cleared him from my investigation.

After Ranger learned of the bugging in my room, he called all Rangeman and staff (Luis, Ella, and Stephanie) to assemble in the Rangeman gym. Everyone milled around wondering why the boss had called this unprecedented meeting. For a short period, no Rangemen were on the streets: everyone was in the gym.

The meeting's pretext was indignation on possible voyeurism at Rangeman instead of the real purpose of espionage.

As I rolled into the gym, Tank called the assembled to attention. Since most were former military the reaction was swift. I loved the sound of leather boots slapping together. Those not military quickly followed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in case you don't know me, I am US Army Colonel Vassiliki Chrystofondodoulous. I am here receiving rehab from Dr. Brown." I went on to describe my apartment's bugging and the gross honor violation as well as Rangeman protocol and trust. I loved getting a chance to chew ass and was relishing this meal. "I hope the individual who put surveillance cameras in my apartment has gotten his or her voyeur jollies watching a crippled woman dress and undress, go through various bodily functions including my treatment's unpleasant effects…and who probably who snores in her sleep. I will find out who the sexual pervert is and I will crucify him...or her. FYI people, my early work in the Army was as a sniper. I was also trained in advanced aggressive tactics. When I first met Carlos Manoso, I cleaned his clock and very nearly did Tank's except I broke his jaw. Though I am now confined to this chair, I'm still sneaky as hell and Ram will agree with me, my aim is still spot on. When I'm finished with the SOB, I will turn their carcass over to Ranger and Tank to mete out justice on the mats."

Discipline at Rangeman was often very painful. I watched their faces. Most Rangemen were embarrassed and horrified one of their group was a voyeur. About a half dozen were nervous. It was a long time before new surveillance devices appeared in my room, but they did return. I simply smashed new ones.

-0-

Friday nights for Rangemen who had the evening off meant pizza and beer at Pino's bar. Perhaps as an apology for the invasion of my personal space, I was invited to Pino's. After conferring with Bobby, Pierre asked me if I wanted to go. My smile was blinding. Other than my trips to Newark for treatment and the time Pierre could carve out for a Vitamin D stroll, I left the building only long enough to roll up and down the sidewalk in front of the building during my precious one-hour liberty.

Getting through Pino's front door wasn't a problem. It was getting up the steps to the back room that presented the challenge. Lester ran down the steps offering to carry me. I looked at him carefully. We were the same height, if I could stand. Could he really carry me?

"You get the chair Lester, I don't want you fondling her," Pierre grumbled. I laughed but was secretly grateful. Ranger was at the table head with his back against the wall. Pierre sat to his left and I was on Pierre's left. Stephanie was on Ranger's right and across from Pierre. The rest of the Rangemen were situated down both sides of the long table.

Stephanie was laughing at my entrance. "I don't think I've seen someone carried over Pino's threshold," she said.

"Technically, I rolled over the threshold and was carried up the stairs. Tank is the only one strong enough to carry my fat ass up and down stairs," I replied.

That drew many guffaws around the table. "You haven't given the rest of us a chance, darlin','' the cowboy named Woody smiled. His upper body development, like all the men around the table, indicated Pierre wasn't the only one who could carry me. Hmm, that might be fun.

Pierre growled which brought more laughter.

I looked at Woody, "Where you from, cowboy?"

"New Braunfels, Texas, ma'am."

" _Du musst Deutsch sprechen._ " (You must speak German) I stated.

" _Ja, meine Dame, mit einem texanischen akzent_." (Yes, ma'am with a Texas accent).

" _Herr, erbarme dich_ (Lord, have mercy)," I gasped and laughed.

I looked around, most were slowly figuring out what we said.

"How many languages do you speak?" Lester asked.

"As a child, I spoke five foreign plus English. I've added a few more over the years. I've never counted the number. No need." Only Pierre knew he knew about my forced Arabic instruction.

"Five," Stephanie gasped. "Why?"

"My father was born in Greece when his parents were visiting relatives there. They wanted the grandparents to meet the new baby. Both parents were naturalized US citizens, so he automatically became one. My mother was from Martinique but became a citizen at twenty-one. They taught us their native languages, Greek and French. The other languages came as we moved around. Kids pick up languages quickly. How many languages do you speak, Stephanie?"

"Just English, but I'm proficient in rude Italian hand gestures. It comes in handy in the Burg. I'm learning Spanish now that I work here, since so many of our clients are Spanish speakers."

"Smart."

While beers were consumed, I stuck to water. When the pizzas arrived my salad order was close behind. "What no pizza?" Stephanie asked. "Oh, I forgot, you are a health nut like Ranger."

I wasn't offended. "I'm secretly addicted to these pickled peppers. These are _pepperoncini_ , also called _friggitello_ , you probably recognize these cherry peppers, Hungarian wax, and of course these _jalapenos_. I'm surprised at the selection." Feeling a bit snarky I added, "Steph, you might up your veggie intake with pickled vegetables, _giardiniera._ "

Stephanie shook her head, "Nice try, but that won't work. I'm familiar with _giardiniera._ I do love olives, though."

I groaned, "What type: _Kalamata, Amfissa, Manzanilla, Castelvetrano, Cerignola,_ the salty black _Nyon, Niçoise, Liguria_ , Alfonso, or black Mission?"

Stephanie was laughing, "Green, with pimento. You sure do know your olives."

"I adore them. Papa told me in the villages in Greece when Lent was early in the year before the wild greens were available, people subsisted on olives and bread."

Stephanie smiled, "Add peanut butter and you have a full meal."

"Hmm, sounds yummy," I responded.

Bobby, ever the doctor jumped in, "Careful of your salt intake, VC."

I nodded, "I can dream." Then turning back to Stephanie and indicating the pizza on the table I said, "I'd love to tuck into a piece of pie but don't want my ass to get large, remember."

"Colonel, right now you don't need to worry. If it becomes an issue we'll just make sure you spend more time in the gym with us guys," Lester interjected with a wiggle to his eyebrows.

"Buttock exercises are difficult for me, guys. It's not like I can swing my legs about, yet. I really do appreciate all your help. Nothing like a dozen drill instructors to keep one motivated," I mused.

"And our language is better than most DIs," Ram said. After others chuckled, he raised his beer bottle, "Here's to success."

I nodded in agreement. I turned to Stephanie, "Stephanie, I never see you in the gym."

Someone muttered, "Steph does only enough to remain legally employed."

I smiled, "I wish I could eat pizza and drink beer without after effects. You must avoid sweets."

That brought a laugh from everyone who heard me, including Stephanie.

"My sweet tooth is well known. So far, good Hungarian genes have kept me from expanding. Plus, sugar is forbidden at Rangeman."

"Are you totally Middle European?" I asked.

"No, my father is Italian."

"Be careful, pizza, beer, peanut butter, and sweets, you don't want to become a giant Mama Mia!"

-0-

Maybe the Mama Mia comment got Stephanie thinking. Suddenly she came to the gym when I was there. She started with the bike and treadmill, two devices I hoped to get back to...someday. We often worked together on floor exercises and upper body development.

In return for my Mama Mia comment several days before, she threw back, "You'll never catch Tank in upper body development." I smiled, "I'll settle for catching him any way I can," I said as I used the hand weights. That brought chuckles from Steph and whoever else was in the gym at the time. I was a bit embarrassed. I had never been that overt.

"What about you, Steph? When are you going to pin down Ranger?"

"Well, ah...it's complicated."

I was going to spout some profound saying but decided...what did I know? I've remained celibate ever since Egypt, never dating, well, only in a group. We worked in silence for a while and then I asked her, "How long were you in Ruidoso before we met at El Camino?"

"The six of us had been there for a week. It is unusual for the Core Team to get away together and for so long, but they had been working on a project, nonstop for weeks. All were burning out."

VC remembered Silvio telling her the attacks started thirty-six hours before he called her. Add six hours for her travel and it was highly unlikely Stephanie, Hal and the Core Team were behind the cyber-attacks. She would have to make friends with Hector in the basement to review Rangeman computer work to determine the "nerd" level of the employees. From Silvio's conversation, the attacker's computer knowledge was high.

"Usually guys resent female intrusion in their private times."

"Most of the guys here and especially the Core Team are like brothers to me. They have helped me out of one disaster after another. Originally, I was entertainment, but I've won them over by accepting them as family no matter how scary they are. Some are still fighting PTSD. I'm nonjudgmental and available anytime they want to speak…and sometimes, when they don't."

"So if the Core Team was in New Mexico, who minded the shop here?"

"Ram and Manny. Bones filled in for Bobby."

"I know Ram and Manny, but don't think I've met Bones."

"He works nights. His wife is a night nurse at Helen Fund hospital. She was a military nurse. Bones was a medic. He's the oldest employee at 45, not counting Luis and Ella. He's content to do monitor work and help Bobby from time to time. He also keeps the vehicle fleet running."

I chuckled, "Keeps the mechanical and human fleet running. What do you do around here?" I was pretty sure I could scratch off Ram, Manny, and Bones from the list, but would check.

She went on to explain her position as a bounty apprehension agent for her cousin but now works almost exclusively for Rangeman, only helping her cousin from time to time. Her Rangeman work is doing searches, background checks and helping with paperwork.

"Did you develop the search programs?" I knew she didn't as I had written one, gave it to Silvio to give to all the Rangeman offices.

Stephanie laughed, "Hardly. I input info and hope I get out something we can use. My creativity is thinking outside the box, trying to understand lifestyles so I can figure out where they are hiding."

She then asked me, "What do you do with the Army?"

"Very much like what you do here at Rangeman. My division filters through worldwide information, finding people, things or looking for patterns that indicate problems. When we find something, we tell others."

"Sounds safe, how were you injured?"

"A building fell on me."

She looked horrified and was about to ask more questions when I stopped her. "The rest is top secret, nobody here knows more, not even Tank." Pierre did know the details but hadn't told anyone else, not Ranger or Bobby. I needed to change direction, "So, tell me where one finds a doughnut around here?"

She laughed out loud, "I thought you didn't eat contraband? Not in this building, that's for sure. I'll gladly sneak something in."

"Good to know, I thought I was going to have to plan an escape including alternate transportation. I have a serious apple fritter addiction. I need a break from making good food choices." I had no desire for a fritter, I was making noise.

Changing the conversation course I asked her, "Are you tracking an FTA now?"

"I am, for my cousin Vinnie. It is too low bond for Rangeman. Carmen Q-P, short for Quesada-Perez, has a shoe fetish but doesn't like to pay for them. She goes into the stores, tries two sizes on of numerous pairs, rearranges the shoes in the boxes, putting one left over shoe in each box and the purloined pair in her over-sized purse. In essence, she's stealing two pairs of shoes, as what is left behind is useless."

"It must be some purse to hold shoes."

Stephanie thought about Lula and her oversized and bedazzled purses and her own messenger bag. "Big purses are common in the Burg. Also she only steals the higher-priced, designer shoes." She got off her bike and came and sat with me on the floor. I handed her a hand weight and she started to use it.

"That's why she's on your radar. If she were stealing shoes from a mass retailer or second-hand store there wouldn't be the concern."

"When Carmen is caught, she quickly bonds out then skips on her court appearance. She doesn't return until the bond expires several weeks later."

"How many times has she vanished?"

"This is her third skip. In addition to the shoplifting, she has the three failures to appear. She should be back in town as her bond expired ten days ago or so she thinks. Vinnie has filed for an extension citing her propensity to return after the deadline."

"Would her numerous skips increase her bond?"

"None of her bonds are that great. Usually others with higher bonds take precedence, but I specialize in lower bonds."

"With her record, I'm surprised anyone will bond her out."

We both switched hands with our weights.

"She's not considered dangerous or a risk to the public, her bonds are $500. Jails are so full that the nonviolent offenders are released or receive a low bond. This last time though, she stole several $2,000 pairs of shoes."

"Seriously? There are $2,000 shoes for sale here in Trenton?"

"Hey, we aren't the bottom of the heap, close, but not the bottom," she defended.

"Are there only three shoplifting charges?"

"She's been caught three times. Estimates are she has sixty stolen pairs over the past five years. I suspect she's done more than that especially if she also works outside the immediate area."

"She must have a larger place to live to house the shoes. After all, Imelda Marcos had a palace or two for her collection," I said.

Stephane waved her hand, "Sixty pairs isn't that many. A good-sized closet could easily hold sixty. If she had hundreds, yes, that would require special storage."

Sixty pairs aren't considered that many? I reviewed my closets over the last ten years. At most, at any time was four pairs. "I take it her address is bogus."

"The number belongs to a burned-out home on Gaylord."

"Does she have a family? Are there signs of addiction, perhaps, and she's doing this for money? Finally, is there any information on where she runs to?"

Stephanie shrugged, "I have nothing. She has no family and very few friends here."

"The dates she steals the shoes, are they regular? I'm thinking payday, social security check, something like that?"

"She has no employment record. She could be a ho or supports herself through shoplifting."

"Possibly both, or she has a companion who pays the bills. Are there regular, traveling, entertainment troupes coming through the area?"

"What do you mean?"

"Drag queen shoes, fashion show, poker tournaments, something where expensive shoes are the norm."

Stephanie shrugged, "Maybe. I'll look into it. But if she isn't keeping them she could be stealing them for someone else. If they are for her, she's either wearing them at a second location, for example, Atlantic City and tossing them. A real shoe junkie hangs on to all."

"Spoken from experience?" I asked.

"Yeah, I even had trouble throwing away old athletic shoes unless they have been vomited upon."

I put my weight down and started stretching my shoulders and upper arms and thinking out loud. Stephanie didn't bother stretching. I said nothing. "So, she has transportation. I assume you've already checked car registration or driver's license. If not personal transport, then public transportation or she has an accomplice. Going back to the burned-out home, good chance she lives in the same neighborhood to know the address is not inhabitable. Tell me about the neighborhood: transient or long-term residences?"

Stephanie thought, "Probably more transient than permanent, but it's a mix."

"She's not running from building to building with her collection. That would be too much effort. Set up a search, longest residences using utility bills, female names first. If that doesn't work run male names. How old is she?"

"Thirty-two."

"If she's been at this since she turned 18, then the residence search shouldn't need to go back beyond 14 years. As for transportation, how does she get to each store? If she is using buses, work your way through the system to figure out what bus routes. She might have a boyfriend who could also be her transportation. Then again, she could be using a male name for rent. Sift through the names for ages, social security and so on. Speaking of shoes, what sizes are she stealing? If something like an eight and eleven, then we'd be looking at someone with a deformity to have two different size feet."

"Six and seven."

Laughing, I replied, "Do they actually make size six? One size difference is fairly common, darn it. Well, with the small size six she's probably not a male crossdresser. If she wore a 13 like me, you should be considering Ms. Q-P is actually a Mr. Q-P."

Stephanie thanked me and left the gym. Three days later she popped in carrying a small gift bag with tissue paper. "I brought you a little something."

"Fertilizer for my plant?"

"Yep, Vince and I found a neat shop next to a shoe store. Who knew it had been there all these years? It was filled with interesting items, wall to wall. This is for your fruit tree," she said as she handed me the bag.

Ah, code, she got her shoe maven with Vince's help and I suspected my fruit tree fertilizer was an apple fritter in a plastic bag inside the gift bag. "I'm sure my plant will thoroughly enjoy this treat. Thank you." OK, I didn't have a fruit tree, but rather a near bush called a Peace Lily. I'd give the treat to Lester. He seemed to have a sweet tooth like Stephanie's.

About six weeks into Rangeman torture, my toes and feet began to twitch. A trip back to Israel was necessary. Bobby went with me for the evaluation. What he didn't know is I was also going to Israel to get a handle on what was happening at Rangemen. The bugging and attempted attacks on the computer system continued intermittently. My searches through Rangeman and my own machine were limited, hidden behind security screens that required more intensive hardware to break. I needed a more clandestine network to search US info sources.

When Bobby and I returned, I met Ranger far from Rangeman. The location was an abandoned building made mostly of concrete that reduced sound wave travel. Pierre had brought a new lightweight chair. We were never sure if my heavier chair was bugged. I pushed myself into the warehouse to the designated area in the very center of the building.

"Ranger, what do Jeanne Ellen Burrows, Joyce Barnhardt, Lee Sebring, and Julio Leon Gaspar mean to you?"

Ranger's eyes gave away nothing. I reminded myself not to play poker with him. "That will take some time to explain."

I sat patiently listening to Ranger's association with Jeanne Ellen Burrows. It wasn't pleasant. "When I was about eleven, she convinced me to run drugs for her, while I spied on other people."

"Fellow gang members?"

"No, other gangs, non-gangs, I was to keep my eyes open."

"What was your payment?"

"First, I received money, then drugs and alcohol, and later sex with her."

My eyebrows rose, "You matured early."

He looked disgusted, "I said, 'later', when I was fourteen."

"Did you personally use the drugs and alcohol?"

"Some, but mostly I supplied fellow gang members."

"Did they know you were a snitch?"

"I wanted to live. I was upfront about it from the start. We devised ways to mislead her, use her against our enemies, then we'd split the payments."

"Did she ever catch on?"

"I don't think so. At fourteen, I was sent to Miami to my _abuela's_ for 'retraining'. I heard she went onto bigger things."

"What?"

He was hesitant.

I broke the silence, "She continued being a bounty hunter and sexual predator, blackmailer, but moved on to mercenary for deeper pockets."

"You know?"

I smiled, "Not everything, but her name rang a bell so I looked into it. You worked with her on two occasions. Your debriefings didn't exactly sing her praises but you didn't condemn her either. You've maintained a very detached relationship with her almost as if you are trying to avoid her."

"Did Tank tell you about my work?"

'No, I've known for years." I silently cheered when he left Special Ops to run Trenton while Manoso was away. "Tell me about Julio Leon Gaspar?"

"Whoa, back up, you knew for years?"

"Your name...and Pierre's...have shown up in intelligence work. Well, actually I was doing extra mining so I could keep an eye on him hoping we'd meet again. Now, back to Julio Leon Gaspar." He wasn't satisfied with my answer about me knowing about him, but let it pass just as I knew he was not totally forthcoming in his answers.

"He has a bail bonds office out of Newark. Jeanne Ellen works for his company when she's in the country."

"She also works with Lee Sebring here in Trenton," I added. "What is your relationship with Julio Leon Gaspar?"

"We were in the same gang in Newark, originally. We were OK together initially, but grew apart. When I came back from the service, I suggested we start a company together. He pulled a gun on me and told me no."

"Sounds like a serious relationship degrade. What happened?"

"I thought he might have had something going on more personal with Jeanne Ellen and didn't want me back in the picture. Or, maybe it was me back from the Army, all hot to trot. I got the name Ranger in Newark."

I was thinking there was another possibility but didn't know what.

Ranger continued, "I started doing my other work to get capital to as startup money for Rangeman. Eventually, I moved here so as not to impinge on Julio's territory."

"Did he and Jeanne Ellen have a fling?"

"I don't know. As I said, I haven't touched her since I was fourteen. We worked together, as you said, and she did her best to get me in bed, but, frankly, no matter how badly I needed sex, I would not touch her."

"How did she take your rejections?"

"She was still trying to dominate me. She got frustrated but found someone else."

"Now?"

"She knows better."

"Is there still bad blood between you and Julio?"

"We are business associates. We can work together, but we won't be going out drinking together."

"Lee Sebring."

"He has his own local bail bonds business. He already had employees and didn't need me so I went with Vincent Plum."

"Stephanie's cousin. When did you meet her?"

"I didn't know her until a year later when she came to work for him. I was paying back a favor from Connie Rosolli, Vinnie's secretary, teaching Stephanie how to be a BEA."

"Back to Lee, are you on good terms with him?"

"Friendly, but we don't work together. Jeanne Ellen works for him when she's not in Newark."

"Joyce Barnhardt?"

He shook his head, "Local Skank. Silicon-enhanced bimbo marries rich guys and then they quickly divorce her, dropping a ton of cash to keep her away. She's made a fair living at it. She and Stephanie are arch rivals, have been from grade school."

"Does Barnhardt have any tie-ins with Jeanne Ellen, Julio Leon Gaspar, Lee Sebring?"

"None that I know."

"Have you had any interaction with these three recently?"

"Jeanne Ellen, about a year ago, briefly consulting on a case via phone. As I said, Lee has his own agents. Gaspar, I tend to avoid."

I sensed something missing in his statement but went on. "When was the last time you worked…..or were in…..Central and South America?"

He shook his head no, he wasn't going to answer.

"Let me come at it from another angle. Who have you pissed off in the FBI?"

He had a slight smile, "The whole agency, or do you want a specific person?" He was remembering his conversation with Silvio in Dallas months ago.

"Person. The agency's file on you, while impressive, isn't damning."

"You've read my FBI file?" He was surprised but remembered Silvio's conversation in Dallas about her ability to slip in and out of secure spaces without being caught.

"And so have you. Hector is good, but not perfect, he's left a few smudges I had to clean up."

This time Ranger raised an eyebrow. "You might want to help him clean up his techniques."

"I plan on it. Now, back to the question. Is there someone in the FBI or former FBI who has it out for you?"

"None that I know."

Once again, he was lying but I wasn't sure how it played. "None of your post-Army jobs were sanctioned by the FBI, but several had secondary ties into some of their concerns."

He remained quiet.

"At any time, did you have a feeling something or someone wasn't right?"

He was still quiet.

"Yeah, I know, they ALL had had elements of a clusterfuck in the making. Let's try this: Alberto Diego Carreras, Mohammad Al-Shammas, Yefim Kuznetsova, and El Lagarto you know, or knew personally."

He was surprised but his eyes got hard. "How did you get that information? All of those were top secret."

"I was indirectly responsible for sending you on one of your missions. Also, there are degrees of top secrecy."

"Are you one of my handlers?"

"No, I or my staff make suggestions and others decide the worthiness. You eliminated all except Kuznetsova. You only were to destroy is enterprises. He's been slowly building back up but staying in the Balkans….so far. Several names keep popping up on the perimeters: _El Falcon,_ Luis Correra-Olivias, Juan Diego Escalante, and _El Contador_. What do you know about them?"

"I've heard the names."

" _El Falcon_ has been in the undercurrents for decades before you or I entered the playing field. He's slippery, hard to define; maybe a minor player, maybe a major player who hides well. I got a tingle about him in the Middle East, but he quickly disappeared. He's been in most of Central and South America including Brazil, Ecuador, and Nicaragua."

"I've never had to find him, just feelings."

"Luis Correra-Olivias?"

"Snitch. He'd sell out his _abuela."_

"Did you use him as an information source?"

"Yeah, but any of his information came with an uneasy feeling. He plays all sides. My cover was _El Cubano_ a hard ass who also played all sides."

"Juan Diego Escalante?"

" _El Fantasma._ I can't confirm he actually exists. If he does, he's usually associated with assassinations."

"Finally what do you know about the accountant, _El Contador_?"

"He is not an accountant, at least for money. His tag is 'he manages problem accounts.' I have nothing specific on him, but often felt he and _El Fantasma_ were one in the same."

"What have you told your handlers about these four…or three?"

He didn't speak.

"General Buttkicker and Colonel DogFace."

There was a hint of movement on the side of his mouth, a Ranger smile.

"One is my boss and the other a pain in my side; which is which doesn't matter. Now what have you told those two men or even General Anders."

"You know him?" he said quietly. Then he paused, "Of course you do. Mainly I had feelings which don't translate well into reports."

"Ranger, so far you've given me pabulum. You have more. I don't care if they are only feelings or strange encounters. Most of my work begins with feelings. Nothing leaves here."

We spent another hour talking.

"Now before you go I've got some good news. In reviewing the Core Team and Stephanie's computer work, nobody is computer savvy enough to pull off the assaults on the firewalls."

"What about Tank?"

"Yes, of the New Mexico five he is the most computer savvy. I see no coding in his work. I am not letting my feelings for him blind me."

"What about the bugging?"

"The timing is wrong. The devices are not designed to be turned on and off. When they were installed they went active immediately. The Core Team, Hal, and Stephanie were in New Mexico with you when they were installed. I'm slowly working through the rest of the Rangeman staff for grudges, blackmail, or hidden computer skills to determine if someone within is fiddling with programs and devising new ways to use the software. My search will take time. I'm feeling the threat is coming from outside with someone inside aiding. "

"Luis, Ella, and Hector?"

"They will be checked as well, especially Hector."

The meeting was over. When I left the building Pierre was waiting beside his personal truck. After helping me in, he kissed me. He did not ask about the meeting, he knew not to. "Where to Sweet Lips?"

His calling me Sweet Lips knocked me back into the moment. "Is there someplace where I can experience nature or maybe a scenic view of the Delaware River without industrial garbage?"

He nodded, "Washington's Crossing isn't far. We can go and neck there."

I laughed out loud. It was a good cathartic release after the past two-plus hours with Ranger. "That would be perfect, thank you."

-0-

Back at Rangeman, during one of my rest periods, I let my mind travel through Ranger's information and what I was finding in my on-going searches. Yes, the FBI had a thick file on Rangeman, and Carlos Manoso in particular, but nothing to warrant bugging his operation. I searched other government records, including those of his handlers and the many alphabet government agencies that continued to recruit Ranger's skills. I, too, was getting tingles. There were two abnormalities: no US government agencies had records of _El Falcon_ or Juan Diego Escalante though they did appear other countries' files. One local name from my research didn't mesh with my early hypothesis: Joyce Barnhardt.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 **"Yes, the FBI had a thick file on Rangeman, and Carlos Manoso in particular, but nothing to warrant bugging his operation."**

Stephanie stood at Connie's desk trying to decide if her waistline would tolerate the third doughnut. She had purchased the dozen so she didn't feel like she was being rude. The office front door beeped indicating somebody was opening the door. Joyce Barnhardt stormed in.

Before Lula could make a comment, she was pushed aside like flotsam. Stopping in front of Stephanie, the tall, dyed red-haired Joyce screamed, "Where the hell is he?"

Stephanie stood still, though Lula seemed to be digging in her purse, "He who?"

"Don't play with me, you know who I mean," she sneered with extra mouth juice making bubbles between her capped teeth. Stephanie noted once again her upper chest was open above her bustier. Did she ever cover up or would she be a middle-aged woman with a freckled, creped and wrinkled chest from sun exposure?

Returning to Joyce's question, "No, I don't. Vinnie is at the stockyards looking for a date, you might want to join him seeing as how you are attracted to bullshit," Stephanie hissed. Her hatred for Joyce was well entrenched from elementary school.

Suddenly, Joyce's fist swung and solidly caught Stephanie's jaw. Stephanie crumpled to the floor. Her Rangeman training failed her as she had allowed her hatred of Joyce to stiffen her body and slow her reactions.

"Get out now," Connie growled. Joyce turned and found herself staring down the barrel of a large Glock. "Joyce, leave before I blow those silicone breasts of yours out onto Hamilton Avenue."

Joyce turned again only to come face to face with Lula's Glock, "Oh please, I need only a little excuse to rid this world of you."

"You'd get the death penalty, you fat bitch," Joyce sneered.

"No, it would be self-defense. We'd pull that knife from your boot and the little lady gun out from under your balloon boobs. Your method of uplift is unique. What bra size do you wear? .38 Special or a .45 DD? You've already assaulted Stephanie, knocking her out cold. All we'd have to do is plead that we were afraid for our lives," Lula emphasized the last sentence.

Joyce's eyes got smaller as she considered her options. She might be able to knock away Lula's gun but Connie was known to be a markswoman. She wouldn't miss. When outnumbered, the best option is to retreat to fight another day. Joyce spun around and stormed out the door, bumping into Joe Morelli. "Get out of my way," she uttered venomously. Never realizing who she bumped into, she continued down the sidewalk.

Morelli, wisely, decided not to stop her. When he entered the bonds office, he saw Stephanie out cold on the floor. Lula turned quickly and deposited her gun back into her oversize and bedazzled purse before Joe saw it. Connie was slower. Her gun was legal. Singular gun, but she kept several on hand, just in case.

Joe was more interested in Stephanie on the floor, "I saw Cupcake's car out front and walked into this. What happened now?" he asked with his hands on his hips.

Stephanie moaned and Joe went and helped her onto one of the orange, plastic, office chairs. Her chin was red, it would soon begin turning purple. Lula went into Vinnie's office and returned with an ice pack, "Here, for your chin."

"What did Joyce want?" Joe asked Connie, since Stephanie was still trying to unscramble her brain.

Connie shrugged, "The devil woman came in and got into Steph's face demanding to know where 'he' was. Since you are here, I assume it wasn't you. After that, it is anybody's guess."

Stephanie rubbed her jaw, "I have a couple of skips that might fit 'he'. Vinnie is at the courthouse. Now why are you here?" Stephanie pointedly did not mention Ranger. Doing so was an invitation to another fight with Joe. She wasn't in the mood.

"Do I need a reason?" Joe shrugged.

"Then you must be here for a free doughnut."

Joe moved to the doughnut box and took raised-glazed, "I'm looking for Lee Sebring. He's not at his office and his secretary simply says he's 'gone'. I thought he and Vinnie might be at a bail bonds convention."

"I rarely see Lee. How about you, Connie?"

Connie reached into the drawer where she had just put her handgun and took out a nail file, "Maybe four weeks ago. He was at the courthouse writing bonds."

"Was Jeanne Ellen with him?" Joe mumbled through his doughnut-filled mouth.

Connie shook her head no. "I haven't seen her in a long, long time. She does work in Newark for Julio Gaspar. Maybe that's where she's been."

"You, Cupcake?"

"Nope. Catwoman is only seen when she wants to be seen."

"Let me know if any one of them makes an appearance." Joe turned and left, licking his fingers.

Lula watched Joe leave and turn down the street. "Are things cooling off with you and him?"

"The situation with Joe cooled to Arctic temperatures months ago. We've generally agreed we were not right for each other as a domestic unit but agreed we'd remain non-sexual friends. My eyes are clearing. A great ass doesn't mean a lifetime commitment. To him, I'm expected to keep him warm in bed and bear his sons. He needs to find a Burg baby machine."

"What does your mother say?"

Stephanie swished her hand back and forth dismissively, "The same old. Her words are tiresome. As a woman, my only function in life is to marry and bear children and Joe is the last man in the Burg who wants me. I've quit listening to her and going by the house."

"Your mother has tunnel vision," Lula said brushing the doughnut crumbs off her ample chest.

"You think?" Stephanie said as she turned the ice pack around and applied it to the back of her head. Her head bounced when she hit the floor. "She has Valerie as her perfect Burg woman. Her Burg son is Jack D or Johnny Walker. I'll never fit the mold."

Almost as if on cue, Stephanie's phone rang. She looked at the number and sighed, "Might as well get this over. Hello Mom, I'm fine, I'm at the bonds office. No, I'm not coming for dinner. I just saw Joe on police business. We are not back together. Talk to you later."

"You didn't let her get a word in," Connie laughed.

"Why bother?"

"Are you and Batman closer?" Lula asked as she went to fill her coffee cup.

"While I do work 80% of my time for Rangeman, 20% here, Rex is still my main man." Stephanie did not volunteer she had moved in with Ranger. She wanted the Burg including Connie and Lula to believe she was still at the St. James apartment. With the use of timers on lamps, the unit appeared occupied until Dillon finds a new renter. He's probably spending the time sanitizing the apartment from all the mishaps. Maybe he's lighting candles to improve the Juju in the unit for the next occupant.

Stephanie stood up unsteadily. "I'll take the files but I'm not going after anyone today. Thanks to Joyce, my jaw and head are killing me. I'm heading home to Rex for 24 hours of dark and quiet. Don't call, please."

"Maybe you ought to go to the hospital," Lula said with concern.

"And have the Burg hotline call my mother? I'll have to call in sick to Rangeman. As of right now though, only four people know about this: Joyce, Joe, Connie and you, Lula. If word gets back to me, I'll know who the rat is."

She swung her car towards her old St. James apartment but changed direction once away from Hamilton Avenue to throw off those who kept track of everything in the Burg. Her reference to calling Rangeman was but another ploy to stave off gossip. She drove a circuitous course to Rangeman to further confuse any watchers. Once in the building, she considered an express ride to the 7th floor, but Barnhardt's slug to the jaw was still painful and her head was throbbing. She got off on the third floor and headed toward Bobby's clinic. He wasn't in. Vince walked by, "He's on patrol, do you need him?"

"It's OK, he'll tell me to take two aspirin and call him in the morning." She turned around and went to the seventh floor by way of the elevator again. Using the stairs intensified her headache. The apartment living room light was blinding, she lowered the blinds and settled onto the couch. She awoke with a start. Bobby was sitting on the coffee table taking her pulse.

"How did you get in?"

"Ella," he said with a shrug. "From the bruise I'd say you met something solid."

"Joyce the Barnyard Pig's fist. Plus my head must have bounced on the floor when I fell."

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"For a few minutes."

"We've discussed this. I'm glad to see you were listening and came straight here. I take it the light is bothering you."

"Hmmm."

"Let me examine you," Bobby said softly.

After the exam including tests for balance, speech, and memory Bobby put down his notepad, "I don't think the jaw is broken, but I would like to X-ray the mandible, TMJ, and head to rule out problems. Light sensitivity is an indication of head trauma. If the X-rays are clear, you will come back here and stay quiet for 24 to 48 hours. Turn off your phone. You don't need to be talking to your mother, Joe or anyone else who will upset you. I'll be checking on you from time to time. If I have trouble waking you or you've vomited, it's a mad dash to the hospital. Right now, I order peace and quiet, no loud music, no television or reading but I suspect the headache would stop you anyway. Finally and especially, you and Ranger have to keep your hands to yourself for a few days. Your blood pressure needs to stay low. You've had plenty of head pops over the years. We don't want you accumulating injuries. I'll contact Ella and put you on soft food for a day or two unless we find a jaw fracture."

"Milkshakes?"

He laughed, "Probably and chicken noodle soup."

After a trip to the infirmary for the x-rays, she was cleared to return to the apartment. Ella had chicken noodle soup for her lunch, but Steph couldn't eat much. As Stephanie relaxed on the sofa, she replayed the whole incident with Barnhardt, asking about 'he' and then Joe asking about Lee Sebring and Jeanne Ellen made her wonder what was happening. She didn't have enough pieces and set it aside. Thinking hurt her head anyway.

Ranger entered the apartment when he returned to the building at 16:00. Bobby had called and told him about Steph. Stephanie was sleeping on the sofa. He carried her to the bedroom and undressed her putting one of his t-shirts over her head. Before she returned to bed, she used the bathroom.

"Do you want dinner?" he asked. He held her softly and kissed her on the side away from the bruise.

"Nooooo, water and a pain reliever are enough."

"No pain reliever on an empty stomach. There's a milkshake for you in the freezer. I can whiz it in the blender to soften it back up."

She agreed.

Ranger returned and wrapped his arms around her as she drank. "What happened today?"

"Joyce Barnhardt blasted into the office demanding to know where 'he' was. I didn't have an answer and got nailed."

Ranger lifted an eyebrow.

"OK, I told her Vinnie might be at the stockyard and she might join him in the bullshit."

He smiled his small Ranger smile, "That accounts for the punch."

"Then Joe came, looking for Lee Sebring and Jeanne Ellen. I haven't seen either in ages." She could only finish a portion of the shake before setting it aside.

Ranger was concerned. Stephanie never failed to finish ice cream. As she tucked herself into bed, Ranger's phone rang. It was Bobby wanting to stop by and check on Stephanie.

"Just how bad is it, Bobby?"

"There is no fracture to the mandible or TMJ. She has a contusion to the back of the head, think skull bruise. To be safe, she needs to be watched carefully until morning. Every 2 hours, she must be wakened to where she responds to command. If she vomits, show signs of seizures or anything strange, we'll have to get her to Emergency. If you want, I'll sleep on the couch."

"No, I'll wake her."

"You two will have to curtail any hanky-panky for a few days. She needs a stimulant-free environment for a while. She's had too many head bumps. No coffee or tea unless it's decaf and no chocolate, though I'll relax that if it is minimal not some super dark confection."

Ranger smiled, "I noticed the milkshake was pink not brown."

"I've asked Ella to whiz up a smoothie for her tomorrow with greens but plenty of blueberries to hide the color."

Ranger chuckled, "A vegetable smoothie and decaf coffee? You have high hopes for her."

Ranger undressed and put on his silk boxers. It was his reminder to keep hands off. He scooted closer and took her in his arms as she slept. In a few days, he'll talk to her about why she allowed herself to be hit. They would need to adjust her training. Physically, she can't keep taking this abuse.

He kissed her forehead as she slept. He never accepted she might be part of the bugging. Betrayal was not part of Babe's makeup. Quite the contrary, she was loyal to a fault. No matter how someone took advantage of their relationship with her, she could not abandon them. The first exception was Dickie Orr. Led to believe he was the proper Burg husband for her, his betrayal so early in the marriage knocked her for a loop. Next, her mother, refusing her shelter after leaving Dickie, was the second. The third, losing her job with E.E. Martin and her cascade into poverty was the final. She never gave up the belief that if she held tighter, people would love and respect her.

Initially, Joe seemed to be ideal for her, but her spidey sense wouldn't let her take the relationship to the altar no matter how much her mother and the Burg pushed her. The more she was around Rangeman, the stronger she became. She saw the respect the men gave her compared to what she received with Joe, her mother, and the Burg. Fortunately, it didn't take a major disaster before she opened her eyes. "Ranger, is the job offer with Rangeman still open?" she asked as she watched another car being towed away. This time it didn't blow up or catch fire. He was present when the poor POS car was sent to car heaven. As they ate at Pino's, Mr. Davidson's giant SUV went out of control on the icy road. Babe's pathetic vehicle was one of four to be seriously damaged including Mrs. Niederson's brand new Lexus and Dominic Bulugi's new Continental SUV. Somehow, the Burg forgot Babe's car was part of the carnage. It didn't compare to a Lexus or Continental.

Just before he drifted off to sleep, Ranger's mind was traversing the question why were Joe and VC interested in Lee and Jeanne Ellen.

-0-

 **VC POV**

Tomorrow was another trip to Newark for treatment. My mind would be in lockdown for days as I dealt with the after effects. I needed to make a breakthrough now or lose another three or four days with nausea and migraines. What started as an anomaly, began to grow in my mind. Lee Sebring did not exist until 25 years prior. Who was he? When people changed their names, there was always some clue left of their prior existence, unless that information was being covered by a government agency.

When I ran a program on Jeanne Ellen Burrows' background, I encountered other roadblocks. To get the information would require me to go into data storage fraught with blocks and security traps. But then, that was my specialty.

The answers led to several surprises: Lee Sebring was formerly Lester Stauslowski. His birth certificate said he was born a twin. I looked for another Stauslowski: none. I looked at death certificates: none. Where was his twin brother?

I almost missed it. The newspaper had a small distribution in Newark and was only printed for five years. There was a picture of twin babies Lester and Leonard Addams with their mother only listed as Pauline. I got a copy of the picture and sent it for analysis overseas. I didn't know who to trust in the US. The results came back: Lee Sebring, 87% match. That was incredible for such a difference in years and poor quality photo. Why was Lester Stauslowski not listed as Addams? Were the boys born to an unwed mother named Pauline Stauslowski? Was the father the Addams? Or vice versa, was Pauline the true Addams and Stauslowski was the father? I couldn't find Pauline or Stauslowski anywhere in the US or Canada who fit the age parameters. She didn't just drop out of the sky, but her records might have been dropped into oblivion.

Continuing the out-of-wedlock term as it was still being used 30 years ago, Jeanne Ellen Burrows was born Jean Anne Burrows and also had no father listed on her birth certificate, just 'Unknown'. Jeanne Ellen's mother was Ellen Burrows but had changed it from Barker although not due to marriage or a stepfather. Why? Lee was 10 years older than she and she was 10 years older than Ranger.

Julio Leon Gaspar's records were easier. He was another without a father listed on his birth certificate. His mother, Adela Gaspar, had died when he was 18. He joined the Air Force and upon completion of his military contract, returned to Newark where he joined Newark police for 3 years before being injured during a high-speed pursuit. Leaving the force, he started his bail bond business with money from a private investor. I couldn't dig out the investor's name. Julio didn't appear to be paying the unknown party business returns or paying back the debt. Curious.

I researched Joyce Barnhart and found she was adopted, closed adoption. It would be hard to break open. The other way was to meet with her directly. The problem was, how? I could not have any Rangeman escorts in the vicinity nor Stephanie. Apparently, Joyce was now working part-time in real estate, perfect. I would interview her on the pretense I needed a handicapped accessible home. I made the appointment for four days in the future. I'd be incapacitated for a while after the treatment.

As expected, four days later I was just out of the migraine and feeling like a wet noodle. I cleared leaving the building with Pierre and Bobby and refused their offer for transportation. I had to be Rangeman-free. Instead, I used a handicap taxi service. When I rolled myself into her office, I was met by a woman described by Tank as an artificially augmented bimbo. OK, the breasts were enhanced, the lips overly plumped, the nose was too narrow for her features, her teeth were probably capped. Her hair was an unnatural red, cut long to flatter her face, but made her nose look even longer. So far, she wasn't the monster I was expecting but had enhancements, maybe too many. Still, she was firmly in the attractive category. Her wrap dress was a bit lean on the fabric, barely wrapping, containing, or covering anything. I hoped she wouldn't bend over as the neckline was near to her solar plexus and her balloons might escape. Joyce gave me the once-over. Pale from the latest treatment and a little shaky, she figured I was no threat to her man-hunting career and rebooted back to real estate agent mode welcoming me. We chatted about nothing. At least to her it probably seemed like nothing. I found it informative since I was trained to be an interrogator and had Joyce spilling her life's story without realizing it. As for the house hunting, I had set parameters that would make it nearly impossible for her to find a home for me, but as a true real estate agent, she was sure she knew several possibilities.

Bobby granted me the rest of the day off, so Pierre and I explored the Mercer County Fair. The weekday crowds made maneuvering easier for me, but with enough people to make surveillance by others difficult. For protection, we had Woody and his wife who blended in perfectly as they had grown up in Texas. They were dressed in jeans and boots appearing as if they just emerged from the horse arena. Lester and a young lady seemed a bit ill at ease among the animals and agricultural displays until they found the food vendors. For sure, funnel cakes were not served at Rangeman.

"Do you want something to eat?" Pierre asked me.

"Sushi?" I asked just to be cute. No way I'd eat sushi from an outdoor vendor. In fact, fish or seaweed didn't sound good at all.

He actually laughed, "I'm sure there's a booth on every corner.

My eyes sparkled, "I suspect there may be lamb selections near the sheep barn."

He paused, "Mutton?"

"No, young lamb. I smell lamb burgers, kabobs, or gyros on the wind. To a Greek, it's like a homing beacon."

"Gyros?" he asked pronouncing them like the spinning wheel used to determine Earthly orientation.

I gave him my don't-fuck-with-me look. "You know they are pronounced "YEE-ros."

" _Ναί agapité mou,_ " he smiled. (Yes, my dear)

"Pierre Antoine Sherman, have you been holding out on me?" I scolded.

He laughed, "I've been secretly studying the language so I would know what you are mumbling in your sleep. I understand the French."

"I'm talking in my sleep?" I was horrified.

"I'm worried you might be giving away national secrets," he shrugged.

"Damn," I muttered. Suddenly, I'm a security risk.

He came around and squatted in front of me. Good thing he had good knees. "Hector checks your room three times a day and I know you also check. The hallway has hidden cameras recording who uses the hall. There are no listening devices, active or passive. Your mumblings occur soon after the spinal treatments. I'm always nearby."

"What?"

"I sleep on the couch when you are out of it."

"I've only seen Bobby."

"We trade off."

"Pierre, when we get back to Rangeman I need to know…everything." I already knew about the cameras in the hall.

"Yes, ma'am. As to what you are saying, I'm not proficient but most goes back to childhood or St. Basil's."

As we moved down the walkway, he asked, "Which direction does your nose indicate we should go?"

Wait, I'm not eating meat right now. Why are we in search of lamb? Ah, I wanted to know if Pierre would eat it. I couldn't imagine spending my life with someone who didn't like lamb. My brother had a super large grill in his yard just for roasting lamb. He and Papa would spend hours tending the meat on the rotisserie.

We went to the lamb auction where the bleating and auctioneer provided background noise. Pierre leaned close. Even in the confines of the fair with all the animal and food smells, Pierre's scent was the most enjoyable. "What did you learn?"

"There's no sushi."

He shook his head. He wasn't used to being kidded. "What did you learn from Joyce?"

"There is no father on her birth certificate. She never tried to contact her birth mother. Now, her personally: aside from being fairly attractive, in an enhanced way, she is also bisexual. She prefers men with money to marry, good looks and exceptional hardware for tumbles, but feels most comfortable with women."

"That surprises me. The way she and Stephanie go after one another I would not have thought that."

"Joyce is a bully and always has been. According to her, she was a fat and ugly child. Plus, she was adopted. Her feelings of inadequacy started early and led to resentment for those she considered prettier, had birth parents, and got dates. She hates Stephanie because she was cute and got the guys...like Joe Morelli. He was somebody who screwed most of the girls at school except Joyce. Stephanie was the only conquest Joe wrote about on the stadium walls. Nothing would give Joyce greater delight than taking Joe away from her, permanently. Ranger is also something belonging to Stephanie. Ranger has threatened to shoot Joyce if she comes near and she believes him. Some of the Rangeman employees have had one night stands with her."

Tank's eyebrows shot skyward, "Don't look at me! I have an aversion to enhanced. I prefer the natural model." He ran one of his calloused fingers along my jaw. It was a soft action contrary to his large muscular physique. Few would suspect Pierre had such a soft side. He then got back to the discussion. "Maybe she's referring to Lester," he chuckled.

"No, she's still trying there. Her conquests are guys who have moved on to other jobs. Probably too embarrassed to admit they took a tumble."

Pierre nodded, "So what are you thinking?"

"When Joyce admitted she knows Jeanne Ellen, her eyes dilated a bit. Also, when I brought up Lee Sebring, I saw anger or mistrust. They were almost jealous reactions. From the two reactions: the emotional closeness with Jeanne Ellen and the mistrust of Lee, I'd say Joyce and Jeanne Ellen are, or have been, lovers."

Pierre began coughing and laughing, "That is not a picture I want to think about."

"Jeanne Ellen and Lee may be closer than employee and employer."

He shook his head slightly as if considering that possibility. "She has been employed by him for several years."

We moved over to a chuckwagon-like food cart and ordered lamb kabobs with a side of Tzatziki sauce, the yogurt-cucumber accompaniment.

We found a table with chairs near noise to block eavesdroppers. We sat touching one another so we could talk. "This is good. Can you make this?"

"Yes, it is easy. The secret is the marinade and it's simple." I ate a lamb cube but gave the rest of the kabobs to Pierre. As delicious as it was, my kidneys weren't back to normal.

"You can make all of these?" he asked, indicating the lamb, rice pilaf, and sauce.

"Of course."

"Will you share the recipes with me too?"

I looked at him a moment before remembering the green chile stew recipe from New Mexico, "Yes, Mr. Sherman, you'll find I have a lifetime of delicious recipes."

"I can't wait," he smiled.

"Whoa, does that mean I'll be your cook for life?"

He winked, "If you play your cards right."

"I was rather hoping you'd cook for me," I smiled back.

"I'm actually a good cook, but I'm always looking for new recipes. We might make a good team. I'll cook, you clean."

"Whoa, recount!"

Why did Stephanie find him so cold? I thought he was warm, fun as well as caring. He is very much like he was back in the Philippines when he was jovial with fellow soldiers. As we finished, I motioned to the poultry barn where the roosters were sounding off.

Entering the smaller pavilion, the boy birds provided us with background noise. Pierre squatted down to look at one bird and spoke, "Where does that leave us with the investigation?"

"I keep going back to Jeanne Ellen, Lee Sebring, Julio Leon Gaspar, and Joyce having no fathers listed on their birth certificates. Turns out, there is statistically an unusual bump in fatherless births over a 20 to 30 year period between New York City down to Washington and offspring are in some form of law enforcement. Let's say Mr. X or a group of Mr. Xs fathered some or all of these children...why are they in the same general business, law enforcement?"

"Assuming Mr. X is the father is a big jump," he murmured.

"Agreed, it could be a group of Xs, but just go with it. Why are fatherless children drawn to law enforcement? What's the purpose?"

He got up and we moved to another cage this time with a Bantam rooster who was making up for his size with a near continuous calling. Once again, Pierre squatted down and muttered, "Provide the security they never had."

"What else?"

"Intimidation, private police force…"

"Or manipulating the system," I added.

"Why?"

"Power, profit, or revenge. What else drives insane ideas?"

He thought a moment, "Social conscience."

"Oh, please, too many of the so-called socially conscious big names are skimming the system or making obscene salaries and living high, while admonishing everyone else for their racist or wasteful ways. They are hypocrites. They consider themselves above condemnation. The public buys their baloney because they want to believe someone so rich, powerful, or apparently smart must be right."

"Money and power are excellent aphrodisiacs. Did Mr. X have power or money back then and used them to seduce women?" he asked.

I smiled, "You make him sound like a politician, Hollywood actor, or producer. Maybe he had a good pick-up line, like Lester. Mr. X would have to be old now. Whatever was planned, he'd better get moving on it."

"How is Rangeman involved?" Pierre asked.

"I don't know. Leads run from New York down to Central or South America. Maybe Ranger pissed him, or them, off at some point, but it might be something entirely different. I've already confirmed Carlos has a complete family; mother, father, grandmother. He's not a Mr. X offspring."

Pierre was walking and thinking while I pushed myself. "What about me?"

"Huh?" I grunted. I wasn't expecting that question.

"I don't know my father's name. I was born in the Philadelphia area. I have Caribbean or Central American roots, and I'm in law enforcement."

"You don't know your father's name?"

"No, my mother said it was part of the settlement. He'd pay child support only if I never learned his name."

"I imagine you have had many dreams about who he might be."

"You know?"

"I do. He was in college and would have lost his sports scholarship if word got out he had fathered a child."

"Let me guess, he became a professional athlete?"

"Yes, he did go on to play sports professionally, but he died young."

Pierre wondered if his abhorrence of sports was genetically inspired. His father was a jock and walked away. "Will you tell me someday?"

"When you are ready, but why would you want to know? You've done well without knowing."

"I may never want to know. I'm surprised, though, you looked into my background."

"Pierre, I never meant to hurt you with my research. I was trying to stay close so we could have our someday."

"Were we ever physically close?"

"Yes, but we were too lost in our own Hells to be together." I started to get glassy eyed. I'm glad he could not see me as he was pushing my chair. "You've pulled me through more Hells than you realize, thank you."

He stopped and came around and squatted down in front of me again, "You've been there for me, too. The memory of one woman kept me going. You." He leaned forward and gave me a chaste kiss.

We moved out of the poultry building back to the sheep barn, where a wool spinning and weaving demonstration was set up. I rolled over to the handmade woolen items for sale and found a delightful wool cape that on me would be a nice bed jacket or, actually, chair jacket. On most women, it would be a long cape. After my purchase, we moved out. I glanced back at Lester and noted the lamb kabob in his hand and his obvious pleasure. He was feeding a piece to his date. She took it eagerly and licked the Tzatziki sauce off his fingertips. They made a cute couple.

"Looks like I'm going to have to give you that recipe after all. Once Lester finishes talking about it tomorrow, I'll be badgered for the recipe. It's better cooked on a grill. Are there any Rangemen handy with the grill?"

"Several. Where to now?" Tank asked as we moved back into the main walking area.

"Let's find dessert. Maybe somebody has pie. What is your favorite pie?" I asked before I heard myself. Do I dare even look at him after leading him with a sexual innuendo? Hormones. I glanced up and realized I was right. He had a broad grin on his face. I covered my face with my hands again. He laughed. "Maybe we ought to skip dessert for a while," he consoled me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

" **Power, profit, or revenge. What else drives insane ideas?"**

"Ten more," Bobby barked.

I pushed the weighted bar up evenly without my muscles shaking. I was drenched in sweat but dared not utter a word. Years of military discipline had taught me there was always more if only you reached deeper. The last press was slow and Bobby knew it was my last.

"OK, that's it."

I retreated to that place inside that held the pain and exhaustion in place. My breathing was through the nose. Fill the belly first, exhale through the mouth. Concentrate on relaxing. A cool bottle of water was pressed into my hands. "Hydrate, slowly," Bobby said softly. "I'll be back in a bit."

My muscles were returning, finally. Having a twin brother, we were always in competition and I resented he could muscle up easier than I. Yes, different hormones, but I learned, with extreme effort, I could get strong and fit. At my size, being hard and angular looked better than fluffy. Of course, in my career I had to be hard and fit, but now I had no physique. I would have to build up once again. As I drank the water, I turned to Stephanie who was working with leg weights and said, "Tell me about Lula. Am I anything like her?"

Stephanie stopped the leg lifts and started laughing until tears started down her cheeks. I pretty much had my answer before she found her voice, "You don't bear resemblance at all to her. You two are absolute opposites in EVERY way."

"Every?"

"The only thing you share is the lack of Y chromosomes."

"Then why was Pierre drawn to her?"

"Sex. Lula was a former prostitute and has no inhibitions. Tank probably needed some…you know."

"Sex?"

"She would try to tell me about her dates with Tank. She was a little too graphic but it sounded like straight fornication, not much emotional involvement, at least on his part. Believe it or not, he has a hard time getting girlfriends. Maybe they are afraid of his size?"

"Is she a large woman?"

"Yes, but not in height. They weren't together for more than a few months. Then came Alamogordo, and he suddenly was back to his solitary ways."

"Is Lula still around?"

"I work with her, but she's back to general dating. She would snap Tank back up if she could. She doesn't share well. I suggest you avoid her."

"Since my life is pretty much confined to here and Newark, I don't see a problem."

"Don't you and Tank go on dates?" she asked.

"Dates? I don't think I've ever been on a date. Group outings, yes, but never a man-woman date."

Stephanie's eyes grew wide. "Never?" she asked incredulously.

"My adolescence was pretty confined in a private academy for children in peril. I was crazy for a few years. At West Point, I was too busy. Afterward, I concentrated on my career and its demands. I didn't socialize plus I scare the heck out of men as I am taller than most. I've lived and worked around men so I don't relate to women at all. Strangers think I'm some fashion model unless they see me in uniform and assume I'm either a homosexual or cross-dresser. Finally, all children and most women think I'm a freak."

"Yet you and Tank hit it off so well."

"Did we? I sometimes wonder if our attraction is in a time warp back twelve years ago and we haven't yet caught up to the present. Neither of us was in the right point in our lives for a relationship. We both have grown and matured. I'm nearly overly mature and frankly embarrassed to have these girly feelings at my age. I know I shouldn't be questioning what is happening, but rejoice. If we have a year, ten years or fifty years together, I should not bemoan what we didn't have."

I finished my water and wiped off before getting back into the wheelchair. On my way up, both of my legs cramped. It is all part of being a paraplegic. I sat with my eyes closed trying to keep a stone face and remembering to breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth increasing the breaths per minute as the pain increased.

"Anything I can do?" I heard Steph ask.

"Just shoot me."

Bobby walked up and started to work the muscles. "We don't need the Glock alternative today, nor do we want to start drugs like diazepam," he said softly. "You have enough drugs going through your system."

"I prefer Sig Sauers."

The near-daily cramping continued, so Pierre began giving me massages to ease the muscle pain. The added benefit was he was growing bolder and no longer stopped stop with the legs. His massages were full body. Up until I came to Rangeman, I hated being touched. Now, I look forward to each of his sessions.

As he has become more attentive, he was also becoming more protective. Woe to anyone he thought was inappropriate towards me.

Damn, I've got to pee, I thought as I sat on the mats working with the latex exercise bands. My legs were starting to respond and I didn't need a coach or spotter for these exercises. Nobody else was in the gym but I knew Lester had recently left and gone to the showers. I was growing desperate. Angling myself up into the wheelchair, I headed for the locker room. "Gotta pee bad, shut your eyes, Les, and I'll shut mine," I called out loudly as I heard the shower water. Getting from the chair to the toilet without handicap bars all the while trying to lower my shorts was difficult. I never dressed in handicap adaptive clothing; these were true gym shorts. Suddenly, two hands came under my arms and lifted me up. "Can you reach your pants?" Les asked. He was stark naked.

"Yeah, thanks." I no sooner sat when a big, dark shadow appeared. Pierre grabbed Les' shoulder in a death grip and spun him around. Before Les was pounded into cottage cheese, I shouted in my best Army officer voice, "Sergeant Sherman, STOP!" Both men froze. "At ease both of you!"

The men looked at each other, relaxed, and then looked back to me but quickly elevated their eyes to the wall behind. They were embarrassed to see a woman sitting on a toilet. What was there to see, my belly button? For all the muscle and honed military proficiency, they were still gentlemen. If I wasn't so mad, I'd laugh. "Damn it, Pierre, my bladder is maxed out. I was the one out of order, invading the Men's Only locker room out of desperation. I didn't ask for help getting onto the toilet but I'm sure as hell grateful Mr. Santos stepped in or else I would have peed in my pants.

"You assume I ogled him. In the Army, 85% are men. We've lived, slept, and fought alongside one another. I've seen everything from every angle and I assume men have seen all of me as well."

Incredibly, Les was blushing. "I have more respect for Les than you think I do. I find that disappointing. Jealousy doesn't fit you, Mr. Sherman. Mr. Santos, thank you for assisting me in my time of need. You may return to your shower."

"Yes, ma'am."

OK, I admit to ogling. Lester's skin color was slightly lighter than Carlos Manoso's but the hair was lighter which tended to disappear against his cappuccino skin except in the obvious locations. Like all the Rangeman, his body was put together very, very nicely. But I know it wasn't God-given, but achieved through hard work. Something I could appreciate. Unlike many Rangemen, he had no tattoos, as no doubt he thought himself perfect enough. He didn't need enhancements.

I looked back at Pierre, "As for you, stand back. I still have to pee and would rather not have an audience. When finished, I'm returning to the gym and I most definitely do not want yours or anyone else's assistance." Once I completed the job, I pulled my shorts up, angled myself back onto the wheelchair and rolled out of the locker room, past several gawkers and out of the gym, muttering all the way.

I rolled into my room and went right to my computer, printed a message and hung it on the door: "Do not enter or risk being shot." That should keep everyone at bay for a while. Rolling around the room I scanned for detection devices then dug out my "other" computer with the secret programs and went back to work researching Rangeman's problem.

I wanted to use Rangeman's searches mainly to see how they stored information and to see if anyone had breached a few firewalls. While I could ask permission to use the search programs, I wanted to dive deeper without someone watching over my shoulder.

-0-

The next day the men figured I was still in a foul mood and kept their distance. When I wheeled into the Break Room for a sandwich, the room emptied quickly as if I was carrying a skunk on my lap. I left and found Stephanie at her computer in her cubicle.

"Knock, knock."

She jumped back, "Oh, Colonel! I didn't hear you."

"Rubber wheels keep me quiet...fog and cat feet."

She rolled her eyes, "Another Carl Sandburg fan? You and Ranger need to compare poems."

"It's a short poem; even I can remember it:

 _The fog comes_

 _on little cat feet._

 _It sits looking_

 _over harbor and city_

 _on silent haunches_

 _and then moves on._

"I stopped by to see what search systems you use and to see if you could use help," I said as I noted her 'in' box was overflowing.

"Pull up a chair, ah, I mean..." she stuttered.

I laughed, "Don't apologize. Actually you are the first to use that phrase. I'm surprised it hasn't happened more."

"Wheelchairs are intimidating."

"Yes, they are, plus hard on people's backs."

"How is it hard on you?"

"Pierre is tall and must bend way low to kiss me. Do you realize, normally I'm only a few inches shorter than he? I hate this lower perspective...but," I said as I rolled up to her desk, "it's handy for getting right to work. Show me what you do."

Pointing to a second terminal she said, "Use that one. You probably know about search programs. Here, we aren't looking for national secrets. Ranger and Tank are the only ones who use those programs."

Maybe not national secrets, but I was looking for Rangeman secrets. For the next two hours, we searched, batted around ideas, and searched for more. We looked at the inbox. It was empty. "Colonel, we make a great team. We polished off the toughest of the toughest in record time."

In between all the searches, I was able to learn more about Ranger's public and super private search programs. I wasn't the only one looking into the private part. Someone had used Stephanie's computer. She didn't have the skills to hack into a secret system, but someone here did.

"Steph, are you the only one who uses these two computers?" I asked.

"No, they are open to anyone who needs information when I'm away."

-0-

Stephanie and Ranger sat across from one another eating dinner in his apartment. "Did I see you and VC working at your computer station today?"

"She helped me track down someone a while back and stopped by the see the system. She offered to help with the backlog. I didn't have to show her much, she figured it out quickly."

"Babe, in her job she works with far more complicated systems than ours. Plus, she wrote one of our search programs. Of course she'd know how to use it."

"She's worked for Rangeman before?"

"Remember, she knew Silvio before he joined us. What is your opinion of her?"

"I like her. She's like an older sister but she doesn't talk down to me like Valerie. She's intense though, her eyes are like yours, always watching."

"That's the military in her. You might ask her to give you some pointers. One can never be too aware of one's situation."

"So you tell me, constantly," she cooed. "Right now, I'm fully aware my surroundings and I need to be kissed before dessert."

Ranger smiled a mere 100-watt smile, "In due time, but first, do you think she and Tank are good together?"

"Both are good at maintaining a professional posture with one another in public, but I've seen him going into her room at odd hours. He's carrying timesheet files. When I asked him why he was in the area, he said he was going to watch over her as she recovers from her treatments while catching up on paperwork. He's totally dedicated to her, but he's not shirking his Rangeman work if that is what worries you."

"No, it's just he's…devolving. He's becoming more like he was back in our early training. He's showing signs of becoming….jovial again."

Stephanie laughed, "And that's bad?"

"It's just weird. Lester was shadowing him at the fairgrounds and saw Tank laugh out loud and kiss her in public."

"Well mister, I have information for you. Since I moved in and work mainly for Rangeman, you are changing, too. You are showing a human side to your men. You better be careful, there might be a riot on the command floor when they realize hard ass Ranger has a tiny soft spot."

"Human side? Let me show you my human side," Ranger chuckled as he moved around and sat in a chair next to her and pulled her onto his lap. Holding her chin, he began sensually kissing her. His hand rubbed her back under her shirt as if searching for the hooks. "God bless front hook bras," he muttered as his hands moved around front. Once her breasts were freed, he began to partake of his own dessert. Stephanie knew her chocolate cake in the refrigerator would have to wait, maybe until morning.

-0-

Jeanne Ellen rolled over and looked at Lee. "What are we going to do?"

Lee moved his hand up and began running it through her short blonde hair, "I don't know love, but I'll stand with you whatever you want to do."

"Lee, do we dare bear a child together, after all, we are half siblings? This is my very last hurrah to have a baby. I'm nearly too old."

"Do you want to keep the baby?" Lee had been married for fifteen years before his wife passed away. He had no children and the thought of a child at his age was frightening for many reasons. But he loved Jeanne Ellen. They did not know they were siblings, half-siblings, until after they had fallen in love.

"I'm afraid something will be wrong with it. Also, most women my age are entering menopause. I might have problems."

"We will have it tested and then make a decision. If the baby is OK, do you want to keep it?"

"Yes and no. What will the boss say?"

"He's not exactly a pillar of virtue."

"I'll talk to my doctor in New York, we'll go from there."

Lee was frightened. Lee's father had warned him to keep his hands off Jeanne Ellen, but nature had other plans. Since he and Jeanne Ellen bore no similarities he hoped one of them was not actually one of the boss' offspring.

The doctor entered the consultation room and sat down. "Jeanne Ellen, I'm happy to report tests do not show chromosome inconsistencies. There is no sign of Down syndrome or other problematic genetic markers."

She had reluctantly told her doctor the father of the child was closely related to her. She had stretched the truth a bit saying she didn't find out until after conception.

"Being an older woman, pregnant for the first time, I understand your concern. Rest assured, everything is fine so far. While you are in excellent health and physical shape, you will have to be carefully monitored, often. If your work is physical, you will need to cut back."

She let out a big sigh. Now, it was how to get away from the boss, their father. They needed to leave the country, and soon, to be able to raise their child together.

Later that day, Jeanne Ellen was back in Newark and stopped at Julio Gaspar's bail bonds office, "Anything for me?" she asked.

Julio barely looked up, "Yeah, our friend, Domingo Baca, is someplace high as a kite and forgot his court appointment."

"He's usually pretty easy to find. This shouldn't take long."

"Be careful, word his he's moving into stronger stuff. I'll have more waiting for you when you get back." Gaspar mumbled as he continued working.

Domingo lived in the same barrio as so many of her "runners" from the past lived, including the young Carlos Manoso. Finding Domingo was seldom difficult. A few, well-placed questions and she'd be at his door. She rolled up in her black Mercedes sedan. The neighborhood knew Jeanne Ellen was working and nobody touched her car. She walked up to the door and in Spanish yelled, "Domingo Baca, bond enforcement, open the door, a**hole. Let's get this over and then we can go out for dinner." The door swung open and a 12-gauge shotgun let loose with both barrels. Jeanne Ellen flew backward landing flat on her back below the porch steps. The man in black stepped out, racked two more shells and fired into her lower abdomen from less than 2 feet away. Jeanne Ellen was basically cut in two.

Neighbors reported seeing the Latino man dressed in black leave by way of the back alley driving a black Porsche Turbo. Most thought it was Ricardo Carlos Manoso. He was well known as he was raised in the neighborhood. Nobody got a license, not that it mattered. It had been removed.

Later that day, the Newark police accompanied by Trenton cops came to the Haywood office with a warrant for Ranger's arrest. But having received a warning, Ranger was gone. He told Stephanie he was going into the wind one last time but shared the real reason with Pierre.

Several days later, Stephanie breezed into the bonds office and Morelli was waiting for her. He grabbed her arm and walked her back outside.

"Where is Ranger?"

"I haven't seen him, Joe. Why?" She knew never to reveal his work for the government.

"Lee Sebring is missing."

"And you think…..what, Ranger is next?"

"No, I think he's involved. First, Jeanne Ellen is killed by Manoso and now Lee is missing."

"You think Ranger killed Jeanne Ellen and now Lee? Ranger is not an assassin." She caught herself. Of course he was, but only with a good reason or government sanction.

"FBI is really pushing us to find him. They are on the hunt as well."

"Why are they interested in local murders? They usually stay away."

"I don't know, but the way they are pushing, he is the top priority.

"You mean like the most wanted?"

"Yeah, Cupcake, just like Ten Most Wanted."

The clangs in her head were as loud as they've ever been. Joe pushed her head down but she completely collapsed on the sidewalk, "No, no, no, he's not guilty, he's not guilty," she mumbled.

Ranger watched from the building across the street. He wanted to run to her but he couldn't. Morelli stood with his hands on his hips and watched, not offering to help. What a jerk! Eventually, with Connie's and Lula's help, she was back on her feet and headed back into the bonds office. Morelli left.

-0-

Pierre and I were in the gym when a very pale Stephanie came in and walked towards us. Automatically, I flipped on my phone and the nearby speaker spewed music to garble any listening device that might be in the gym.

Steph folded herself into Pierre's massive arms. "Morelli told me Ranger is about to be put on the Ten Most Wanted List from the FBI for killing Jeanne Ellen and maybe Lee Sebring."

Pierre bent over as if cuddling Stephanie and whispered, "He didn't, and we are working hard to find out who did. Be aware, Rangeman is bugged. Be careful what you say to everyone here, around town, in the bonds office...everywhere. Your phone is probably bugged and directional microphones can pick up conversations from thirty feet or more. You can trust only me and VC."

I'll give Stephanie credit, she didn't react in the way the majority would react, rearing back and exclaiming too loudly, "Bugged!" Instead she nodded as he kissed her hair.

"Little Girl, he is safe and being careful," he whispered.

Two days later, Lee Sebring's body was found burned in his automobile in the Pine Barrens. Identification was slow. It came down to DNA evidence. I made a discreet inquiry to a home for mentally handicapped men in Pennsylvania, and one Derek Iverson, Lee's twin brother with a new name, had been moved to a new facility several years prior. No further information was available. I assumed Lee was still alive and it was Derek in the car. But where was Lee?

-0-

Julio Gaspar was nervous. His half-siblings, Jeanne Ellen and Lee, were dead. He knew who his biological father was, but was told never to reveal the name. It wasn't until he was 14 that the man appeared and began cultivating Julio. When Julio's mother died, his father encouraged him to enter the Air Force, then later, the police academy. Afterwards he provided start-up money for Julio to go into bail bonds after an accident on the Newark police force. The money came with one codicil: have nothing to do with Rick Manoso. Julio didn't ask why but felt maybe Rick had something on his father.

Years ago, Julio thought Rick Manoso might be his half-brother as well. Their lives paralleled each other's for a while, but then Rick went to Florida, returning to attend Rutgers. Also, Julio met Mr. Manoso, Rick's father. There was no doubt Rick was his offspring and Javier was his brother.

He never believed like the police that Ranger was Jeanne Ellen's killer. Even as a gang member, Rick respected women, even when they deserved none. He was never ruthless. Maybe the Army changed him, but not into a sloppy murderer; shotgun, daylight, and seen leaving the scene. A smarter kill would have been inside, quietly and he would not use his own car for transportation.

What motive would Rick need to kill Jeanne Ellen and Lee? It made no sense. He and Jeanne Ellen kept to their own areas. When Rick took on the street name Ranger, he went to Lee for a job. Lee turned him down. Had their father also warned off Lee? Ranger went to Vincent Plum for a job.

Julio firmly believed his father was behind the murders and Ranger was being set up, but why? Too many questions and he knew better than to ask. The man had an explosive temper. Julio chose to play dumb and live. He had done it before and was still alive.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 **"Ranger was being set up, but why?"**

 **VC POV**

As I drifted off to sleep, my mind began to wander. Random thoughts roamed through my brain. They made no sense, but I've learned to relax and let my subconscious sort them out.

Stephanie had mentioned Ranger being hunted by the FBI.

Code for the attempted firewall breach had old FBI signatures.

Why were _El Falcon_ and Juan Diego Escalante not in the FBI, CIA, NSA, or others?

Did Rangeman computers have information on the two and someone was trying to erase them?

Rangeman computers…..Hector?

My eyes flew open, time to visit Hector.

I was barely out of the elevator when he stepped out of his office door. His gang tattoos including the kill-tears did not intimidate me. Was I any worse years ago?

"Colonel, what are you doing down here so late? Are you lost?"

"I need your help, but first we need to clean up your computer prints."

"I run a clean system," he argued.

"You left smudges on your search on me and on Ranger's FBI files. We need to do a little dusting, then I need your larger system for some very illegal and dangerous work."

His eyes brightened, " _Bienvienido a mi_ _guarida_!" (Welcome to my lair.)

He opened the door to two workrooms. One was his computer room. Down the short hall, was a tech's workroom. Normally, a techie's lab is messy with wires and components. Hector ran a neat shop. The mess was contained to hundreds of plastic bins arranged by his special system. " _Desprecias_ _el caos_ ," I said simply. (You despise chaos)

 _"Si."_

I nodded my approval. He was exactly what I hoped he'd be.

Returning to the computer room, I put my finger to my lips to signify he was not to speak and pulled out a device. His eyes showed surprise and concern. I flipped a switch, "It's a blocker. When did you last run a security check on your equipment?"

" _Cada mañana."_ (Every morning)

" _Total?_ " I asked twirling my finger around to indicate the entire complex; computer and tech lab.

" _Si."_

I was hesitant, what with the increasing sophistication of the listening devices, but I had to trust him. Moving in front of a keyboard and monitor, I asked, " _Con su permiso_ _?_ "

I understood his concern, his equipment was as personal as his body and Hector was extremely protective of both. Reluctantly, he agreed.

I began typing, humming and finally stopped, "They almost got you here, nice trap," lapsing into English to test his comprehension.

" _Si_ , it was close."

"How many assaults do you get in a given timeframe?"

He wasn't going to answer until I showed him yet another assault on the firewall less than 20 minutes old. He wasn't yet aware of it. Looking a little ashamed, he answered, "Daily, but most are random attacks. For the last several months, I've been receiving more sophisticated assaults several times a week."

"If you ever need help building better walls, I might be able to help."

"Like the ones you designed for Silvio?"

Of course, he'd know. I just nodded.

I was looking at the new assaults. They bore similarities to what I saw in on Martha, the Rangeman main server in Miami. I wasn't surprised. My eyes also scanned Hector's coding. It was unique, nothing I had ever seen before. Not only was he not part of the security assaults, but he was also an excellent and creative coder. Pierre mentioned Hector also designed security systems. When this mess was over, I hoped to have many hours discussing systems with him. Once I was convinced his system was clean, I pulled out the laptop I had been sitting on. "I built this. Now, time to clean up your skills."

"Are you sure this computer is not infested with bugs? I will check like before," he deadpanned, remembering being called to my apartment for a scan for surveillance devices and finding the computer I was sitting on.

"There are no bugs in my computer or my ass," I smiled sweetly.

He laughed. "I like you, Colonel."

"VC, please."

For the next four hours, we tapped keys, read code, swore, laughed and generally had a good time. I showed him how to detect listening devices without using a detector, confirming this computer area was clean as well as his lab. It was how I discovered the initial Rangeman bugging. His eyes shone brightly. I expected a giant leap in Rangeman security technology in a year or so.

I figured his mind was racing ahead so I wanted to rein it in. "Continue physically sweeping the building as you've done in the past. This is not the time to change your routine."

He appeared surprised I was reading his mind. Nodding he said, " _Si,_ it is best."

When we shut down, we went up to the fifth floor for coffee and whatever fruit and sandwiches the night crew hadn't eaten. He watched me eat the chicken.

"You are a vegan," he scolded.

"Not totally. I can tolerate a little once in a while."

Our next stop was the server room. When we were done, Rangeman's Trenton network was even more secure, Hector now had a nearly invisible system, and I had more answers.

Bobby was waiting when I returned upstairs. "You are late."

"I overslept."

"You overslept with Hector?" he asked with a smile.

"Ah, that won't fly, will it?"

He shook his head and chuckled, "No, it won't, but he's the one guy Tank won't go after. I assume you were down there playing computer games, probably _Call to Duty_."

"You know me well, Master," I responded.

Back in my room for my rest period, I actually stretched out on the bed and began thinking. I had eliminated only one name from the list I gave Ranger the previous week. The rest were either different people or one person using many different aliases: _El Falcon_ , Juan Diego Escalante, _El Contador_ , and _El Fantasma_. If they were separate, did they work together? Which one was Mr. X?

I thought back to the initial FBI code fragment I found when Silvio first contacted me. How many months ago was that? I was convinced the FBI was bugging Rangeman but the listening devices being used inside Rangeman now were modern, not old school like the original ones. The new devices were the type used by NSA and CIA. Hector and Silvio were picking up more than one active assaulter on the Rangeman systems.

Assuming the plan was to take over law enforcement as Pierre and I discussed at the county fair, did Mr. X's plans extend to other agencies beyond the FBI? Was this a military unit, government unit or a new cartel? Did it extend to other countries, which would account for the predominately Latino names? If this was a family unit, did they believe themselves a modern-day Genghis Khan, who fathered hundreds of children whose genetic-print is found throughout the world today? If it was, surely they weren't insane enough to believe in Eugenics, breeding superior individuals. If this was the case, why had Gaspar, Sebring, Burrows, and Barnhardt been born in New Jersey away from Washington DC or other large cities?

Why Rangeman? Were other major security companies also under attack but hadn't discovered the assaults? Ranger was involved in human and drug traffic intervention when he got the strange vibes. When I asked who his targets were, he was reluctant to answer. "Fine, it will take me time, but I know Aguilar Pablo Aguirre was one."

His eyes widened.

"I've told you, it is what I do."

He thought a minute and named seven more including _El Tejón_ , _Venganza_ , and _Adelante_.

" _Adelante_?" I asked him. "Is that a surname or political movement?"

He didn't know. He never got far in the investigation.

I had a program to list all current and past FBI employees for the past 40 years. Now, I needed to add other government agencies, plus review Rangeman employees for their ties back to all Feds. Throw in Ranger's names and the results would be thousands. How much storage would I need for all this? Storage? How much background has Rangeman already stored on their clients, hires, FTAs as well as Ranger's mercenary work? Over time, had they accidentally collected too much information?

It was time to contact Silvio. I used a phone I suspected was bugged.

"Hey Colonel, long time, how are you doing?" Silvio answered with delight.

"I'm not mentally ready to be a full-time Roller Queen but I may have to face the music." I was further along getting out of the chair than I wanted outsiders to know.

"Yeah, I can understand, but I suspect I can now beat you in a 5K."

"Don't bet on it, mister. I've got super wheels and I'm working on developing upper body muscles like Hal and Tank."

He groaned, "I hope not! Before I get into asking about the guys, what do you think of Stephanie?"

"She is taken, Silvio."

"No, not for me," he blustered. "I originally trained her."

"She's excellent, maybe better than her teacher. She is intelligent and has an amazing Sixth Sense. You know it's a girl thing, don't you?"

"Oh geez, now I'm going to start worrying you are training her to take over my job. Let's change subjects before I get depressed. How is it working with Bobby?"

"He's having too much fun pushing a senior officer. He is ruthless because he knows I will not complain. Others here think they are still in Special Forces training and I need to join them. I don't know how many times the ex-SEALs have threatened to throw me in the Delaware just to see if I can float. Nobody lets me slack off."

"What do you think of Lester?"

"He's entertaining. I'm surprised the others haven't pounded him into sand. Anyway, mentally he's too young for me."

"I'd make a comment about you being a cougar but you were my commanding officer."

"You know Tank loves felines," I shot back.

"How is Tank?"

I paused, how would I describe our relationship? For those here at Rangeman it was obvious there was something between us. Silvio had known for years about my fixation on the giant man but I didn't want that information going out on an unsecured phone. I tried to be discrete. "Attentive. Silvio, I'm calling to wish you a belated happy birthday. You know I try to check in closer to your special day, but I'm a bit out of kilter here. I apologize."

Silvio snapped to attention. This was a disguised message: I suspected I was being monitored…'out of kilter'. 'Belated happy birthday' meant I was looking into people. A 'special day' indicated I'd be sending an encrypted message within 24 hours. 'Apologize' signified the situation was potentially dangerous.

"Colonel, I was wondering if you forgot me," he said laughing. "My feelings were trembling."

'Forgot' means understood, 'trembling' was asking how dangerous.

"Trembling? Silvio, I've seen you face down the worst criminals. Are you losing your nerve? Don't worry, I won't tell." 'Don't worry' was code assuring him it wasn't too terribly dangerous. Actually, if what I suspected were true, the message and results would be darn dangerous. "Sooooo, apparently my forgetting hasn't made you hate me, how is your life?" 'Soooo' was the all-clear sign; the rest of the conversation was not in code.

"Other than my good friend and former superior forgetting my birthday, I've found myself a nice woman and am thinking about the big ring."

"Now I understand the trembling. It's about time, mister. You Rangemen are all slow to marry; must be a genetic disorder."

"No, it is pure fear. There is no marriage boot camp to prepare us."

"I hear you! Silvio, if you get that woman to say yes…..it is a woman isn't it?"

He laughed, "Yes, she's a she."

"Send me an invite. I can probably spring for a toaster or blender for a gift."

He laughed, "Probably from the dollar store. You were always thrifty. It's great to hear your voice and hear you laugh. We'll have to talk more often and maybe I'll schedule a family visit to Newark and stop and see all of you."

"I'm sure Hector is itching for another round of _Call to Duty_. From what I hear you two rewrote that program and took it to the outer reaches."

"Yeah, you should play a game with him."

"Only if I disarm him first."

Silvio laughed, "That's what takes the game to the outer reaches."

"Take care, Silvio."

"You, too, Colonel."

As I hung up, I flashed on Silvio and Newark. Immediately, I called up his file…he was from a big family, middle child, both parents still living. His maternal grandparents in Miami were still living, only one paternal grandparent was alive, in Newark. Then I remembered him saying how his parents kept him away from gangs because his cousin, Rick, had gotten involved. I called up Ranger's family history and found he and Silvio shared the Newark grandmother as did Lester Santos. Ranger was Silvio's cousin and Silvio never mentioned it in the Philippines. I was pretty sure Silvio was clean but I was going to have to discuss what happened years ago.

When I returned to my room and checked my computer running background checks on Rangeman employees, I found two anomalies. Somebody didn't quite disguise their past but Stephanie or Silvio didn't catch the problem. I probably have my Rangeman buggers, but I wanted to use a bigger computer in Miami to double check. My encrypted message went to Miami. Where was all private search files kept?

His reply came quickly, "Martha."

"OMW" (on my way) I shot back. I would ask Tank to accompany me. Taking Bobby made more sense, but, hey, I wanted alone time with Tank. So sue me.

Before leaving for Miami, Tank brought in several sizes of gold wedding rings. "We will be portraying husband and wife, let's see what fits."

I was surprised. I expected to be two coworkers traveling together. What's with the married couple business? I hesitated for a moment.

"What's wrong?"

I was wondering about the 'married' part. Just how married would we be? As a married couple, we'd be in the same bedroom. I didn't want him to know my concerns. I needed a quick covering answer. "I'm trying to remember which hand: Orthodox Christians wear theirs on their right hand, Catholics on their left..."

He smiled, "Mr. And Mrs. Leroy Green are Baptists. Left hand."

We had reservations at one motel, but went to another using the name Mr. and Mrs. Martin Rollins. We left my wheelchair in Trenton opting for the lightweight travel chair and hopefully not bugged for our clandestine mission. We also switched out our luggage at the last minute in case someone put tracking devices inside.

Mr. and Mrs. Green did arrive at the motel; a large dark-skinned man and his biracial wife in a wheelchair. They were Rangeman Atlanta employees acting the part. Fortunately, they were also husband and wife and would give any covert listening devices in the room or outside the building an entertainingly erotic earful either by pay-for-view from the motel TV or live action.

Tank and I changed clothes yet again in case something was dropped in our pockets. He lifted me into his arms and carried me down the stairs to a waiting limo. Silvio was the driver. "Colonel, good thing you've lost weight, I wasn't sure the big guy could carry you."

I laughed, "I've actually gained weight. But remember, he carried me down the stairs, we still have to get back to the room later."

Tank deadpanned, "It won't be a problem. I'll be motivated." Silvio laughed, I blushed.

On our way to Rangeman I casually asked the driver, "How long have we known each other Silvio?"

"Since the Philippines."

"Is there a reason why you didn't mention one of the drunks in Billabong was your cousin?"

He glanced in the rearview mirror. "It was embarrassing. Plus I hadn't seen him for ten years. At first I wasn't sure it was him. Then you handled the situation by knocking him out."

I turned to Tank, "Did you know one of the MPs that day was Manoso's cousin?"

Tank shook his head slightly, "Not until we were in Australia. Rick was furious at both of you."

Rangeman Miami was in an ultra-modern building designed and built for its purpose, unlike Trenton, which had been remodeled. The building was bigger, but the floor layouts were the same. Silvio took us to the server room where Martha sat humming away.

"She has grown," Tank observed.

Silvio smiled like a proud father, "She's getting smarter."

Apparently, the computing and storage needs for Rangeman were increasing.

For the next six hours, Martha gave up her secrets. I reviewed the hacking challenges and confirmed my suspicions formed when reviewing Hector's system. The hacking was being done by different individuals as each had their own style. The oldest attacks were with the old code and were easily repelled. Two were modern and bothersome. One came from Trenton, first from outside of Rangeman and later inside. The other originated from the Washington D.C. area. "The new security programs I gave you will hold these guys off until we can find them in real life and end their games."

Our results were copied to an auxiliary drive. We spent another six hours going over the results before Mr. and Mrs. Rollins needed to leave. We did not return to the motel. Pierre and I became Mr. and Mrs. Geraldo Jacquez and flew to New York.

On our way to the airport, Pierre reached over and removed my gold wedding ring.

I whispered, "Have we divorced already? I didn't get an 'I love you,' a kiss, or a honeymoon."

He had a strange look on his face I didn't understand. Was I being too playful? Reaching into his pocket, he then took my hand. "We are going to New York for rest. These are Bobby's orders. You have been working too hard both in the gym and on the project. Where we are going, a simple gold ring would be out of character."

Somehow, with his massive hands, he could slip the two rings onto my left-hand ring finger. I rolled the top ring over and felt what I assumed to be a CZ, fake diamond. "Something else: I know you speak French. Please only French or Spanish from now on. We are Caribbean. You are from St. Martin married to me, a wealthy Dominican businessman. I often come to New York for R&R as Mr. Jacquez. This is the first time his wife has come along."

" _Je suis honoré mon mari._ (I am honored my husband). _"J'aime vous Pierre_ _?_ _"_

" _Non,_ _Geraldo_ _."_

" _Non, Pierre."_ I winked, letting him know I was referring to Pierre Sherman.

Silvio left us off at the airport. He tipped his chauffeur hat and said, " _Me alegras que ustedes dos están juntos._ " (I'm thrilled you two are together.)

"G _racias por toda tu ayuda,_ Silvio." (Thank you for your help.) " _Usted nos trajo detrás juntos."_ (You brought us back together.)

 _"Invitame a tu boda."_ (Invite me to your wedding.)

 _"Usted nos puede comprar una tostadora."_ (You can buy us a toaster.) I smiled and winked and Tank rolled me to the departure terminal. We were flying on a private carrier, but not the one used by Rangeman.

Once in New York, we were met by a limo driver and taken to a hotel in Manhattan. I've never been impressed with large cities so I was truly bored driving through the city. Yes, there's a difference in architecture but still too many people shoved into a small space.

Other cadets at West Point and Niko tried to get me into New York City when we had leave. Finally, an instructor explained I needed to become more social if I was to succeed in the Army. I forced myself to join others, but never on a boy-girl date. I felt safer in numbers, especially if Niko was present.

I held Tank's hand as we crossed into Manhattan, concentrating on his hand. He asked me several banal questions in French about my impression of New York. _"Il y a tant de gens et voitures !"_ (There are so many people and cars!) I hoped I sounded like a Caribbean-hick seeing the big city for the first time.

We got to Central Park and I recognized the hotel, but I could only raise an eyebrow in question.

Tank chuckled, _"Comme je l'ai dit ce n'est pas le Ritz."_ (As I said, it is not the Ritz).

No, it was The Plaza. While I sat nearby, my 'husband', Geraldo, checked us in. I did not speak and tried not the stare at the hotel lobby. Yeah right, it's The Plaza with its tall ceilings, marble, and large chandeliers. Hardly ho-hum.

We were shown to our top floor suite. I had to continue to act unimpressed. We were portraying a wealthy couple used to luxury. The room was exceptional, but I was so tired I only wanted to sleep. We had spent 12 hours with Martha plus traveling. I wasn't going to get my way, at least not immediately.

The suite had hardwood floors, not carpeting for my chair's easy movement. The sitting area consisted of a sofa and two chairs overlooked Central Park. There was only one bedroom and one giant bed. Uh Oh.

The bathroom had pretentious gold fixtures, marble floors, and counters, plus crystal chandeliers and sconces. What caught my eye was the extra-long and wide soaking tub.

After tipping the bellboy, Tank unpacked an electronic-detection wand and scoured the hotel room. He indicated I needed to be speaking so I babbled on, in French, about the view and how hungry I was. The latter was absolutely true.

Touching my ear, I whispered, _"Sommes-nous en sécurité ici?"_ (Are we secure?)

" _Oui."_ Switching to English, "Mr. Jacquez comes here several times a year, either directly from the islands or from Miami. The hotel staff knows him. I need a break from Trenton once in a while. I come up and catch a Broadway show, visit museums, catch a symphony, opera, or other entertainment."

"Does Mr. Jacquez come with a woman?"

"Never. Mr. Jacquez is married and would never cheat on his wife. Also, he is very private." Tank turned and picked up the in-house menu, "We need to eat and then rest, Sweet Lips."

I had seen several dining rooms off the lobby but all had steps. Usually handicapped people are shuttled into the dining areas through the service entries or service elevators. Tank knew how that grated on me. We'd order from the in-room dining menu. The problem was we were Caribbean but the menus were very heavy into American and Middle Eastern fare. Instead, we ordered Butternut Squash bisque asking if it could be made with coconut milk. Since both of us had African and Caribbean bloodlines, we were lactose intolerant. The kitchen should understand. The roasted beet and walnut salad was fine if they omitted the blue cheese. I ordered an additional small green salad and Tank ordered the seared salmon for himself. Bobby had approved a glass of wine for me. It was delicious but I only took a few sips. We spoke only French during the meal not knowing if the cart was bugged. After removing the cart to the hall, he said in French, "May I offer _Madam_ _e_ a nice warm bath?"

" _Oui_ , but _Madam_ _e_ will probably fall asleep in the water," I answered also in French.

"You need a lifeguard to watch and wash your back."

Uh Oh. First of all, that means being naked and second, I still had scars from Egypt, Nicaragua, and most recently Syria. "Dear …" I couldn't remember what name to use. "Every fiber in my body wants to you to wash me. But some fibers also remember Egypt. I'm coming up to bat for the first time since then.

"Baseball?"

"Pierre, I don't want to strike out." I hoped my sports reference wasn't a put-off for him.

"Don't worry. I'm a good coach," he said. He ran the water adding lavender fragrance. He turned and kissed me, "May I help you undress?"

I must have looked apprehensive as he said, "I've seen your lovely body many times as I carried you to bed after your treatments. How is this any different?"

I was still hesitant, but he continued, "You have scars, I have scars. Life can be brutal."

He was right. Now was not the time to fall back and be modest.

"Where do you want to start undressing me, my beloved?"

He smiled, "Shoes."

Good safe start. We moved onto the trousers, blouse and then the undies. I've never had a drawer full of satin and lace undies but Stephanie and Ella have been resupplying me. Up until now, I was embarrassed to wear them. Suddenly, I felt sexy until I looked down and saw several keloid scars. Unconsciously, my hand went over them.

Tank bent down and lifted my chin to kiss my lips. "Please, don't be embarrassed. You are still beautiful outside as well as inside."

When I angled into the hot water, it was like heaven. I couldn't remember the last time I was in a tub, let alone one that was long enough for me to stretch out. Even modern hot tubs are not long enough to let me completely stretch out.

He chuckled, "Are you going to give me some room?" He had stripped down. I was speechless. I've seen my share of naked or near-naked men in the Army and none compared to what was waiting patiently for my answer. I had to play it neutral which was hardly how I was feeling. Sitting up, I said, "Maybe you should have used sandalwood or bay rum fragrance, not lavender."

As he slid in behind me, he wrapped his magnificent legs around me and pulled me back to his chest. He sighed, "I don't tell you near enough how much I love you."

"Pierre, my love, you don't need to use a lot of fancy love prose to convey your feelings. Your concern and care for me speak loudly."

I don't know what he was thinking but I was hoping this could continue for days. "What happens when the water gets cold?"

His abdomen jumped as he laughed, "We add more and more water until we turn into prunes."

When I was completely relaxed and seriously considering napping, his hand began to explore. "I'll go slowly. I know this is something new."

I was quite used to his body massages, but this was where he had never gone before. I rather liked the breast kneading especially his concentration on the nipples. Normally, I found the bumps to be bothersome, sticking up at the most inappropriate times. I was beginning to understand their purpose. When his hands went further down between my legs, I began to stiffen. I was falling rapidly back to Egypt. He softly cooed, "Baby, it's me. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't know what...what's happening to me," I whispered. I had an idea but had never been pleasured.

There was a pause, "You've never had an orgasm?"

"I've never...I mean I don't know, I was 13."

"You've never explored?"

"Everything about it was traumatic. I still have trouble with medical exams down there." I couldn't even use the correct anatomical names.

"You don't stimulate yourself?"

"No. The only tingles I have gotten are when I'm with you. You are truly the only man who has churned my butter."

He chuckled. "Relax, Elsie. Let me be your guide. I'll explain everything I'm doing and what you should be feeling. I will not hurt you and if you want me to stop, I will, immediately."

I didn't ask him to stop, but when he told me where his fingers were going I needed extra encouragement. As his right hand fully explored my southern half, the left hand stayed with my breasts and nipples. As I approached my first finger-induced orgasm, he whispered softly in my ear what was about to happen to remind me it was him, not ghosts from my past. A gentler coach I could not imagine.

We refilled the tub several times when the water cooled, and he washed my hair, back and pretty much the rest of me. I shyly offered to wash him, but he declined. Once we reached the finely pruned stage, I pulled myself onto the tub edge and he dried me with the big fluffy hotel towels. After toweling himself off, he lifted me and carried me to the bed. I was enjoying this primal experience being carried naked by a big handsome man. The other times he carried me naked I was too incapacitated by the spinal drugs to even be aware, let alone appreciative.

The bed was oversized, longer and wider than a king. This explained the giant tub. This must be the Godzilla suite or at least one for larger guests. I dare not ask if he knew who else used this room. Perhaps other giants like basketball and football athletes. Such an association for Tank would ruin the experience. The sheets were heavy but silken. The down comforter was thick yet lightweight. There were so many pillows of various sizes and shapes I wondered what to do with all of them.

When he gently laid me down, I asked, "No jammies?" He gave me the 'spare me look' and he crawled into bed completely _au natural_ and pulled me close. Again I was warm, but this time there was no hot water. Suspecting the bathtub session was only the baseball game's first inning, I had to put my mind back in Alamogordo and not that hellhole in Egypt. This was Pierre, the man that I was infatuated with from the first time I saw him, or was it love at first sight? He now shared my heart, soul and soon, the rest of my body. I thought being stimulated by his hands was wonderful, but it didn't compare to other things he could do. WOW!

I didn't think about being a paraplegic as he seemed to know how to handle the wayward, unresponsive legs. His massive strength easily lifted and adjusted me for my pleasure and his.

Nothing was rushed. After demonstrating paraplegics could have intercourse and orgasms with a variety of loving positions, he held me to his magnificent chest as I lay flat on his back. While his hand rubbed circles across my back he asked, "How long since Billabong?"

"Twelve years, ten months and 27 days. Very nearly thirteen years," I answered without moving my head.

"You sure?"

"Why, what is your number?"

"Too damn long."

I agreed, a lifetime ago. I looked at the rings on my hand. "Mrs. Jacquez is, indeed, a fortunate woman."

"I am hoping you'll keep them."

I figured they were CZ. I must have hesitated for too long because I realized he was holding his breath. "Pierre, I don't wear more than earrings, why would I want flashy rings?"

"You don't like diamonds? I'll get you whatever you want."

"Diamonds! Why do you want to give me diamonds?" OK, I was a bit slow. Call it post-orgasmic aftershock.

"Do you want me to get out of bed, onto one knee, and propose?"

I guess I gasped and had the WTF look. Then again, I was rather hoping he would slip out of bed to propose in the buff. Every square inch of his body was chiseled perfection.

He thought I still didn't understand. "I assume you will be leaving the Army."

"Yes, only half of me can pass the physical," I sighed.

"Vassi, I'm being very possessive. I know there are government agencies that will want to snap you up, but I want first dibs. Nearly thirteen years is a long time to dream about the only woman I've ever loved. These past months since Tel Aviv, we've become close. I love you with all my heart and never want to be separated from you again."

"Ah..." If I delayed I might still get my view of his magnificent body...

"You said you are not into poetic, deep, heartfelt, teeming with numerous adjectives, cluttered prose. I love you...completely. Seeing you in Alamogordo was an answer to my prayers. When your brother came to Trenton, my heart was nearly crushed. Sitting beside you in the Israeli hospital I bawled like a child fearing you were slipping away permanently. I want to spend the rest of my life with you as your lover and husband."

I kept telling myself as much as I loved him and wanted to be with him, I wasn't enough for him. My mind couldn't get around someone actually loved me especially in my damaged form.

"What do you want to do?" He asked trying not to show impatience.

"Stay right here, listening to your heartbeat."

"For how long?"

I pulled back, "How long is your heart going to beat?"

He looked at me with questions in his eyes.

"Pierre, I never knew if I could ever love someone. You have shown me how much you care and that I can be a woman, a real woman, not some freak female warrior. I love you totally, but I figured I was too damaged for you, both emotionally and physically."

"Vassi," he warned.

"Am I enough for you? I'm soon out of a job, plus, I'm a cripple."

"Stop that now! You are a beautiful, remarkable, humorous, loving, intelligent..."

"What, now you are using adjectives?"

"Damn it, woman," he huffed. "I have been closed off since the Philippines. You have opened my eyes and heart. I've done a lot of research. I've talked with your doctors about your injury and the problems you might have in the future. We've discussed how your chances of walking again are improving daily. Even if you don't get out of the chair, it doesn't define you. I love you, not the chair. I also asked the doctors if you could have sexual intercourse and problems that might occur."

I didn't say anything. I hadn't even broached that subject with my doctors yet. I was actually embarrassed he'd been talking with others about our intimate lives.

"They warned about blood pressure rise but I was careful and slow while I watched you. I believed we could have a very satisfactory sex life. Normally, I would not have had made love to you before marriage. I'm not being hypocritical. I have had sex prior to now, but it was only a physical release. I have far more love and respect for you than to engage in fornication, casual sex. I love you with all my heart and soul. However, I wanted you to believe we could have an intimate life together and not have your past derail us."

"Well, if the past few hours are any indication, I'd have to agree with your assessment."

He got hesitant, "There is something we need to discuss."

"Priests?"

"I've talked with your priest."

"Mr. Sherman, you've been busy. What then?"

"Children."

Oh shit! "In your research, what have you discovered?" I inquired with disdain in my voice.

"Your internal injuries may have eliminated the chance, but there is uncertainty. That's why I used condoms. Plus, there are the chemical treatments you've been taking and their unknown effect on the rest of your body."

"Do you want children?"

"I wouldn't have brought it up if the doctors said no. They suggest waiting for a while. It is your decision."

"Would it negate the proposal?"

"No, not at all."

"But you want a family."

He moved his arm to his forehead, "I'll admit, it's never been on my radar until you moved into Rangeman. When I got to know you better, I realized I could see a family with you, not just companionship."

"Pierre, I'm older than you. I'm running out of time."

"I know. That's why it is optional. We could adopt if we both want children. I will not force you. I'm not sure I'm fully on board with a family yet."

My head was spinning. "Can we table this part of the discussion until we've slept on it, real sleep, contemplation, and a lot of prayers? Know that my answer to the first question, marriage, is an enthusiastic yes. I will marry you. The second question will take more thought." For a moment, I wondered what a 6'6" man and 6'2" woman would produce.

He kissed me tenderly, "One other thing...I want to wait until our wedding to continue our baseball game. I don't want you to think I ONLY want you for your body," he smiled.

"Mr. Sherman, I'm shocked," I kidded. "Delay of game, not a rain out? Thank you. So are we flying to Las Vegas tomorrow?"

His deep laugh reverberated around the bedroom, "No, altar first, then Las Vegas if you wish."

"Thank you."

I was almost asleep when I remembered something, "Pierre, what did my priest say?"

"No problem, but it takes a while for the paperwork."

Before we both nodded off, I was curious about the rings. "Are these real diamonds?"

"Of course. Are they too flashy?"

"If I was still in service or on a smaller hand, but they seem to suit my big paw."

"I'll need the wedding band back after we leave here. It's going to be hard enough getting the engagement ring past the men. We don't need a wedding band to further confuse them."

"I look forward to the day you place it back on my right hand. First, let's finish Rangeman's problem."

"Hopefully soon. Now sleep, Mrs. Jacquez, soon to be Sherman."

As I nodded off to sleep, I mused, at least Sherman will be easier to spell than Christofondodoulous.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 **"Are these real diamonds?"**

We were filling our coffee cups in the Rangeman break room when Tank mentioned a storm moving in and asked if I would be interested in watching the ocean waves. I knew it was a set-up for the bugging microphones and Rangeman around us. I needed to talk to Ranger. "I've spent most of my life in deserts or large cities. I'd LOVE to see the ocean roar, from a safe distance. I don't want to be washed out to sea," I said enthusiastically.

"Then we'll leave shortly. Lester will fill in while we are gone."

As we got into his big SUV Stephanie drove up in her RAV 4. "You two lovebirds heading out someplace fun?"

"We are going on a date! Tank says there's a storm moving in and asked if I wanted to watch the waves."

"Lucky you! Enjoy your date," she waved and winked as she went towards the building entry.

"A date?" Pierre asked as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"She asked me if I've ever been on a date. I told her no, except for our trip to the fair."

He made sure the in-vehicle microphone was turned off. "Never?"

"No, sir. I didn't date in high school or at the Academy. I was still mending. The only crack in my armor was at Billabong bar meeting the most impressive and beautiful man I have ever seen."

"That was a very short date," he said as he pulled out of the parking garage and turned left.

"We got physical enough to stir my pot, mister."

"It was fun, though you intimidated me at first. Then I saw the twinkle in your eyes."

"Actually, I first saw you instructing the Rangers in hand-to-hand, I wanted to join the fun. Niko was the only one I would spar with after Egypt until I was forced to at the Academy. You weren't quite as massive as you are now, but you dwarfed the little pipsqueaks like Manoso."

"Pipsqueak?" He chuckled as he turned onto Hamilton Avenue.

"Relax, I'll never use that term around him."

He nodded his approval. "Is your brother married?"

"Yes, to a lovely Creole woman from New Orleans. They have two daughters, teenagers."

Pierre was silent but glanced at me. He was remembering my experience in Egypt. "Young teenagers?"

I continued, "Thirteen and fifteen. He's been a nervous wreck since they entered puberty."

"I don't know how I'd handle my child being kidnapped and molested." He was quiet for a while, "How old is your father?"

"He's 64. He maxed out at 40 years' service a year and a half ago. The President has the ability to ask officers to remain on for no more than 3 years. So he must leave service anywhere from 6 to 18 months from now. If you are counting up on your fingers and toes, Niko and I used to kid him we were conceived in the back of the limousine as it left the church."

Pierre glanced at me. I laughed, "Not quite, but close."

We stopped at a restaurant/bakery with giant windows overlooking the Atlantic. Tank removed one of the table's chairs so I could roll up to the table. He looked around before stepping back outside.

I was mesmerized by the waves as they rolled in, crashing onto the shore. Perhaps it was my imagination but I could feel the waves' power. Someone sat down at the table with me. He smelled different and had a short beard. "Carlos, thank you for coming," I said.

"This is a bit out of the way."

"You have officially disappeared. We can't have you being found in Trenton."

"Is that Tank outside?"

"Keeping watch. I've kept much of the investigation from him for his safety. Now, who runs the private searches at Rangeman?"

"You could have asked Tank."

"Not everyone, I take it."

"Only three of us: Tank, Silvio, and me."

The number is five now, but we'll get to that. "Do others outside the three know they exist?"

"Bobby and Lester, but they don't have access. I'm curious how you found out?"

"Nobody squealed. I found them on my own while helping Stephanie. It's what I do. I found an open path between her unit and the programs but none had yet gotten past the security. I sealed it and threw up a tougher defense. I'm sure her skills are not up to such a sophisticated hack. I spent several hours working with her. She's adequate but not computer savvy. Now I assume each person has his own personal password?"

"Yes."

"How long have you used _Gorchichnoye_ 13 _semya_? (Mustard seed)

He didn't grimace but he realized there was a security flaw. "Obviously, it's been too long. How long did it take you to figure it out?"

"You did a brief stint in Army language school learning Russian. The number thirteen probably refers to the two of the chapters in the Bible where the parable is found."

He just shook his head. He was really going to have to change his password.

"I've visited Martha. I'm assuming your searches are not FTAs but rather your….field work."

He looked at me strangely, "Some are FTAs with security issues, but most are the other work."

"Do you trade or even give the information to other agencies, countries or contractors?"

"No, never."

"Have you had any reason to suspect one of the other four who have access might be profiting from the information?"

That earned me a serious scowling. "Other four? I assume you are the fourth."

"If you are counting that way, then it's five. I know the fourth is Rangeman's Guardian Angel. I cleaned a few deep smudges from his system and looked for signs of sabotage."

"Do you suspect him?"

"Your company would be in a pile of poop if Hector turned on you. He is clean. Now, since he or Silvio didn't develop the programs, where or from whom did you obtain them?"

He didn't want to answer but decided I'd eventually find out and probably already had. "The programs were given to me by my handlers for Black Ops missions."

He was telling the truth. "Yes, they are military searches. I wrote one of them. I was testing you. If they were FBI search engines, you and Rangeman would be history. The hacking attempt was extremely sophisticated. What do you do with the information once you have drawn it? Do you send it to Martha?"

"Yes."

"Why not delete and sanitize?"

He shrugged, "I figured I'd need them again. Plus, I need to keep track of past problems so they don't come back and affect me, Rangeman or the ones I love."

"I'll accept that," I said. He seemed a bit paranoid, but I wasn't going to argue with him. "Your searches have caught the eye of someone or something. How I'm not sure, but there have been repeated attempts over the months to overpower Martha. Don't worry, your security system has repelled the attacks."

"You mean your security system."

I froze, "How?"

He looked a little smug. I couldn't blame him. I've been upping him for months.

"Silvio mentioned you upgraded our systems, but your brother told Tank you wrote many of the initial programs."

"Pierre and I went to Miami and had a nice long conversation with Martha My Dear. (I wondered who gave the system a Beatles song title.) I've cross-checked Martha with names I've been collecting on my own and through my other sources."

"What have you discovered?"

"There is a growing family moving in and up."

"Are they from one country or region?"

I wasn't sure what he was asking: Italian, Latino, or Russian? "Yes and no. Most are American born. Some members live in other countries. All are very closely related and often in positions of authority."

"So how am I involved?"

"Well, once upon a time you pissed off Big Bird down in Nicaragua. Though seemingly on our side, he betrayed you and us. That's how you and the other two were captured. We both know what happened after." I never expected this to tie back to our shared Hell. "I can't see where your actions would have caused a big ruckus except perhaps to him and his…nefarious work. The key to this whole cesspool is Martha. Her secrets probably hold the identity to the tiercel and clad."

He hesitated and then nodded, he understood. 'Tiercel' is a male falcon, _El Falcon_ , and 'clad' is a term for falcon offspring. "You know who he is?"

"Closer. I can't exactly roll into the FBI in Washington and ask them to spit in test tubes for DNA tests."

He smiled. "FBI...that explains a few things."

"What?"

"Silvio's initial briefing, plus I've had friends in the agency, but they are less willing to take my calls recently."

"Why?"

"It's not something I've done. I tread very carefully around the Feds, all of them. More often than not, I'm the one helping them. So the cold shoulder has been curious."

I handed him several sheets of paper. "Please look at these names. Do you recognize any and if so, who and possibly where or when."

He glanced up, "This is a long list."

I almost snorted. He had no idea how big the list was originally. "This is the pared down version. I had to throw out a large net."

He scanned the sheet, his eyes skimmed over most but when they stopped he spoke. He wasn't hiding anything. "Mitchell Jenkins, FBI; Steve Hampton, FBI; Sharon Carmichael, CIA, Robert Blass, Homeland; Monte Plumber, State Dept.; Santiago Blanco-Ruiz, Colombian Justice Department; Javier Oliveriera-Sousa, Peru; and ….Raul Campos-Meijia, Army Colonel, Nicaragua." The last name he nearly spit.

"Yeah, that's who betrayed you on orders from Big Bird. OK, switching tracks, Lee Sebring, any idea where he'd hide?"

Ranger's head snapped up immediately, "He's not dead?"

"No, that was his identical twin brother."

"I didn't know he had a twin. No, I don't know anything about his private life other than his wife died several years ago."

"Do you ever work for him?"

"He has his own BEAs but yes, he's called me from time to time, but not in a while."

"Did he ask you to do an apprehension for him?"

"No, he was asking for general background information."

"Have you talked to him recently?"

After being forthcoming, he suddenly refused to answer. I found that curious.

"What about the spy at Rangeman?" he asked.

"I know who."

"Who?"

"They are younger clad. One is our Trenton computer hacker. No, you can't have them for dinner, yet. They may yet serve a purpose."

"There is more than one at Rangeman? What about after?"

I shrugged. "So far their crimes are minimal."

"Not to me," he hissed.

"Stay safe." I pushed myself back from the table.

He glanced at my hand on top of the chair wheel. "You are Orthodox Christian aren't you?"

I nodded yes.

"Tank?" he asked with his eyes pointing to my ring. "I thought you wore your ring on the right hand. Your ring is on the left."

I smiled, "It's transferred to the right during the wedding ceremony."

"Congratulations. I hope I'm invited."

I laughed, "There was no way we would NOT invite you even if you couldn't be the _koumbaro_. We are waiting for this problem to end. Drive carefully. A storm is coming in."

I rolled away towards the bakery case and purchased several dozen cookies and pastries before joining Pierre. He saw the boxes. "Is Stephanie corrupting you?"

"No, I'm just treating her and the men. Everyone has been so kind to me. Maybe next time I'll take them to dinner."

Ranger returned to the bar, grabbed the handcart and returned to the beer semi-truck and pulled away. Nobody pays attention to the beer delivery guy.

-0-

Stephanie stepped out to her car parked in front of Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. She no longer drove a POS car. While she had her choice of cars, she still wanted to remain somewhat anonymous around town. Her Toyota wasn't the only one in town. She would have preferred her own Porsche Turbo or sportier Audi R8, but it was too flashy for the Burg. She saw Joe coming towards her and moaned. "Now what does he want?"

"Cupcake, I really need to talk to Ranger. The FBI is riding my ass pushing me to find him."

Stephanie had talked with Tank and VC and worked out a story. She didn't know everything that was going on but was worried about Ranger as was everyone else. "I told you before. I don't know where Ranger is. He just vanished."

"Does he do that often?"

"Actually, yes, several times a year."

"I thought you two were close."

Stephanie wasn't going to disclose just how close she and Ranger had become. "I am his employee. He doesn't share his travel schedule with mere employees. If I had to guess, I'd say he's in Monte Carlo."

"What?"

"I assume he's a super-secret government agent, like James Bond. So he's probably playing baccarat with a despot."

"Not funny," Joe scolded.

Stephanie used the example as an absurdity, not as a clue. She raised her arms out to the side in exasperation, "Joe, I don't believe for a minute he killed Jeanne Ellen or Lee. If you haven't noticed, he isn't always in Trenton. Maybe he's climbing the Himalayas, fishing for marlin, playing golf with the President, or he's at one of the other Rangeman headquarters."

"What other headquarters? Yeah right, Leavenworth, Florence, and San Quentin."

She threw her best Burg glare. "Miami, Atlanta, and Boston," she sneered. "Plus, there are several other cities being explored for future Rangeman expansion. I'm assembling the data on them. Maybe he's looking at those. Do your research, Joe, and get off the Stupid Bus. Your Burg racism is showing."

"Cupcake, I don't want to see you hurt by him. I know we are over, but I still care for you."

"Joe, you've been using that line about not hurting me for years. How will he hurt me? He respects me, listens to me, he doesn't yell at me trying to get me to fit his opinions of what I should be, an irrelevant Burg housewife. He doesn't call me a demeaning name like Cupcake. Most of all, he doesn't listen to my mother's rants. She is just as controlling as you. Let me go, Joe."

"He will fall and bring you down. He's a thug."

Stephanie seethed. "This is why we are over, Joe. Listen to yourself! I'm so tired of hearing your same drivel. Yes, he carries a gun like most people in the security business. Is it because he only has a permit and not a badge? That makes him a thug? Was Lee Sebring or his employees thugs? His company provides security to homes, businesses, and important people throughout the eastern United States. Does that make him a thug? Only part of his business is bond apprehension, work the police don't do. Does that make us both thugs because that's what I used to do, though not as efficiently as he? He was an Army Ranger. Does that make him a thug?"

"He's been in jail."

"He was a juvenile caught boosting a car! Something you admitted doing yourself with your uncle's Ford. The difference is you didn't get caught. As an adult, the few arrests were because of some imbecile policeman misinterpreted the law to fit their racist prejudice to his skin color. Each case was either immediately dismissed by the officer's superior or thrown out before it ever made a trial. Anyway, you've been in jail, too, Joe: the brig in the Navy and when you supposedly shot your informant, Carla.

"Joe, as I've told you, motherhood is not my aim. It is all the further my mother can think: motherhood, housewife, church potluck dinners. My childhood was miserable. I do not want to relive that especially here in Gossipville. Yes, I have had a crush on you since high school, but I finally grew up. We were never lovers, just sex partners, and occasional friends. Our goals are completely different. I want my OWN life not what you, my mother, or the Burg have planned for me."

"You are a failure…" he stopped, embarrassed by what he was about to say.

The Jersey Girl glare shone brightly. "Yes, I'm a failure in the tiny, racist minds that comprise the Burg. I am not, and will never be, an obedient, conforming, woman who believes she is only destined to marry within her ethnicity, make ziti, and push out babies. Go find a brain-dead Burg woman, multiply, be happy."

As Stephanie turned and walked back into the bonds office, her neck tingled. Ranger was close. She hesitated, touched her neck and smiled.

Ranger was smiling as he removed the earbud and lowered the directional microphone. James Bond? What happened to Batman?

-0-

 **VC POV**

How many weeks have I endured this torture and how many more are there? The migraines are exhausting. Once the latest one was over, I was hungry, having not eaten for several days except for some vile concoction Pierre and Bobby developed for me to drink. I knew it contained fruits, vegetables and misc. powders, the latter of which made it vile. I was opening the window blinds after days of darkness, giving my houseplant friend some much-needed light when Pierre came in with a brown box.

"I thought we'd have dinner and play a game."

I wondered what type of game he had in mind. No, he had said we'd wait until our wedding. I read the brown box, Scrabble. "What, we aren't playing Naked Twister?"

He smiled broadly, cupped my face, and kissed me, "I hope we will be, soon."

I flushed. It was my own fault. I pulled the tiger's tail.

My first real food meal after treatment was always a delicious vegetable soup. Today was minestrone. There was a sandwich for Pierre as well as the soup. We turned our attention to the board game and laid out the board and tiles. My mind wasn't in the game but I was holding my own. The tiles on my tray were M, D, D, A, A, and S. I immediately saw Addams. I remembered Lee Sebring's baby pictures, Addams. I included the name on Ranger's list but he didn't react to it. My mind went back to my tiles and arranged Sad Dam. I smiled; no, Lee's father wasn't Saddam. The phone rang. Hector was calling Pierre and asking a question. Pierre responded in Spanish. My mind switched languages. Sad was _Triste_ in Spanish, but what was a dam?

"Love, what is Spanish for dam?"

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, "What type of a dam?"

"Barrier."

He chuckled, " _Presa_." He looked at me, "Why did you ask? Are you trying to change the rules to include foreign words?"

"You'd better hope not, I speak more languages than you. The reason I asked is I've been through the FBI roster for current and past employees and there's no double-D Addams, plenty of single D, but not in higher positions. I keep coming back to the original, old FBI code." I sighed, "I know a lot of this started in Central and South America so I was just playing a Spanish word game with the various names that have come up."

Later that night, I tossed and turned. Something was bothering me. I angled out of bed into my chair and opened up the Scrabble game and pulled out tiles for _Presa_ and _Triste_. I quickly recognized a pattern and turned on the laptop. I took my list of past and present FBI employees and began the search. I smiled wryly, among the high ranking employees of the FBI, Arturo Estripe.

Was he Addams? Was he _El Falcon_? Was he the father of Lee Sebring and his twin brother and a bunch of others? I found his file. I arranged all the suspicious, fatherless births by birth date to see if there was any correlation between his postings. There were. I checked his early career, he was sent to Central and South America as an adjutant to various ambassadors. The odds were improving, but no proof. I had pictures of suspected offspring and put them up against the Arturo Estripe's photo for similarities. Some were darn close. I'd run these through government facial ID programs, but not US programs. What I needed were DNA samples. I momentarily thought about my comment to Ranger about test tubes for spit. I needed to tie at least the locals together to begin to begin to prove my theory.

I'd start with Julio, Joyce and the late Jeanne Ellen, and the maybe deceased Lee. Just how I was going to get the latter two? I needed personal items. Damn, I needed Carlos Manoso to break into Lee Sebring's home in Hamilton Township and Jeanne Ellen's apartment in Newark.

"What do you want him to do?" Pierre asked the following morning over breakfast.

"To get into Lee Sebring's home or office and see if there's something we can get a DNA sample. I don't think forensics will cooperate and I'm hoping they didn't strip his house when they went for samples. The same applies to Jeanne Ellen Burrows. I don't know how to get Lee's brother's DNA as he's been off the grid for years. I can handle getting a sample from Joyce Barnhardt."

Julio was easy. I followed him into a coffee shop and retrieved his cup when he threw it away. It helped he also had shoved a used tissue into the cup. Bingo.

-0-

Joyce and I met for lunch. "Joyce," I began to butter her up. "Your hair color is bold and sassy so I imagine you don't worry about early grey hairs. I've noticed I'm getting a few and don't know what to do about them. I think it is too early for the drastic hair color change. Do you have suggestions?"

"I'd start with the old-fashioned treatment," she said as she reached up and pulled several hairs from her head.

"Ouch" I winced as I and two other Rangeman at another table watched where she flicked the hair.

"It's easy. Maybe with your short hair, it hurts." I hoped she got the base follicle, as I wasn't sure if the red dye would interfere with DNA results. "I'm thinking of letting it grow now that I'm no longer in service. I'll have to start visiting a salon. Do you have suggestions?"

"You are too young for grey hair," Joyce shot back.

"Thank you for your kind words, but Father Time disagrees. I figure with various rinses I can hold it off, but I need help in applications."

"Are you now planning to stay in Trenton?" she asked. The reason she didn't bust her butt looking for a home for me was just explained. She thought I was leaving.

"I don't know. I need to live near VA facilities so Newark would be better, except there are too many people up there."

"Are you still looking for a handicapped accessible house?"

"As I told you initially, Trenton's architecture is heavily into two stories. I need a single floor house."

She nodded, "There are single stories further out of town."

"Keep your eyes open, I'm sure there is something around." I knew for a fact she lived in a single story pseudo-Colonial within Trenton but in an all-white neighborhood. She had no intentions of following up on my requests.

"Are you dating?"

I wondered if she was planning on making a play. "I found a guy from McGuire-Dix. I wasn't looking, it just happened. He isn't put off by the chair. He has friends who are missing limbs or in a chair."

"Is that his ring on your finger? Are you married?"

"It belonged to my mother. I wear this to discourage anyone from looking for someone with a disability check. He and I are taking it slow."

"Sounds like a sneaky way to get out of buying a ring."

"No, I've already told him I expect sapphires or emerald in addition to diamonds. I can wear this on my right hand when we get married."

It wasn't the truth, but she bought it. After we left the restaurant, the Rangeman employees watching where Joyce flicked her hair, retrieved the hair sample as well as her napkin and martini glass and fork.

I had to get the lists, pictures and samples examined but didn't know who to trust. They had to be done out of the country, as I wasn't sure how far this spread. When in Newark for my latest infusion, I met with my Israeli-born doctor and told him the story. He arranged for them to be sent to Tel Aviv. Shortly thereafter, I received the results. Jeanne Ellen and Julio Gaspar were half-siblings as was Lee Sebring. Ranger had found Lee's or his brother's hair in his home, but no natural blonde hair for Jeanne Ellen. He went to Newark and got her sample from the shower drain. Joyce Barnhardt wasn't a half-sibling, but rather a half-niece. So Mr. X's son had fathered Joyce. How deep and how complicated was this? The potential offspring number suddenly exploded.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 **"How deep and how complicated was this?"**

Pierre was tending to Rangeman business and I went along for a change in scenery. We had stopped for a mid-morning cup of coffee. I sat at the table waiting for Tank to return with my scone and coffee when I glanced at a man coming into the shop. I knew him. I tried to ignore him as he got in line behind Pierre. While Pierre brought my scone to me, I watched the man take his order back outside.

We sipped our coffee and when I was halfway through my scone he said, "What do you think it is?" He knew something was in his pocket.

"I recognized him. It won't blow up. Pretend you are searching for something, go through several pockets first. He pulled out the card and a pen and set the card down as if to write on it. He was surprised what it said in the front, Mossad. On the back was a time and location. It was for 2 hours from now at the Newark airport, General Aviation area. Leaving the shop, the man caught my eye. I winked. It was cheeky, but he had been a member of the team in Syria and dug me out of the rubble.

As we drove away, I casually said, "Clear your baffle." It was the term used by submariners to turn around and check another sub wasn't on their tail hiding in the propeller interference.

He looked at me and laughed, "Aye, aye, captain."

He then skillfully drove a looped backtracking on anyone who might be following us.

"What do you see?" He asked, glancing into the rear view mirror.

"The white Honda following us is gone, but the silver Chevy is still with us. He's our friend."

"So we are clear for the meeting?"

"Right full rudder, Captain. All ahead full." While he drove, I called Rangeman and told them we were heading north to Newark on a business rendezvous. Lester chuckled, "Eloping?"

"In Newark? Les, I'm getting desperate, but I think we can do better than Newark."

I could visualize Lester's smile, "I figured you were flying to Las Vegas."

"Unfortunately, Tank overruled that option," I answered and then ended the call. "Les asked if we were eloping."

"And you told him you were desperate?"

"I try to be honest at all times," I smiled sweetly. "He brought up Las Vegas."

"You will have to deal with him when we get back, you know."

"I'd much rather deal with you when we get back," I said softly as I ran my hand up and down his thigh. He grabbed my hand and kissed it, "Am I going to have to hose you down?"

I all but convulsed, "Yes, please!"

The silver Chevy behind us sped up and the driver indicated we were to follow him away from the airport.

"What's up?" Tank asked.

"Our vehicle and phones have trackers. We have to look like we are having a meeting away from the designated spot."

"Do you know him?"

"He dug me out of the rubble in Syria."

We were led to an office park, giving us credence we were going to a business meeting for those who might be tracking us. When we exited we turned off the phones and threw them back into the car, under the seats and got into the silver Chevy. From there our Mossad agent drove us to the General Aviation parking area. After being searched again, we entered a hangar where the Gulfstream 650ER business jet with a Swiss registration was waiting. Was I getting a scolding from Ari for asking for help from Mossad in the DNA and picture search?

We were carefully searched again before entering the aircraft. The "steward" met us, asked us to sit and buckle up as we'd be leaving shortly. Two security men guarding the steps came aboard and sat down. The doors were closed and the engines spooled up.

"Are we going to Israel?" Pierre mumbled.

"Hope not, I didn't pack a toothbrush."

After an hour in the air, mostly over water, we began to lose altitude. "Any guess where we are?" Pierre asked.

"This aircraft is faster than commercial types so I suspect we are beyond Boston. Perhaps we are in Newfoundland or Nova Scotia."

When we touched down, the aircraft taxied into a hangar and the aircraft door was opened. In walked Ari and my father. Not a good sign.

After pleasantries were exchanged all around, we moved back to the table seating. Since my wheelchair was stored, Pierre lifted me easily and moved me to the small conference area. "I love your arms, but I'd rather walk," I whispered in his ear.

"Hopefully soon," he whispered in return.

The conference was in session.

My father began. "You have stirred up quite a hornet's nest while you were supposed to be rehabilitating," drawing out the last word for emphasis.

"A hornet's nest with whom?" I wasn't being coy. I was worried about how far the information had spread.

Papa shook his head. He wasn't going to tell me.

Ari spoke up "We reviewed your extensive research, DNA samples, and the photographs. We concur with your analysis."

My father spoke, "Obviously we are keeping this far from Washington until we can gather more evidence. Arturo Estripe has more friends than the most prolific call-girls in town."

I felt snarky, "Are you sure they aren't offspring?"

The two men didn't say a word so I continued, "How are you planning to get the others' DNA to confirm paternity?"

Ari answered quietly, "The same way you did, steal coffee cups, soda cans, swab forks, break into their homes and clean their hair brushes and pick hair from the drains."

I smiled, "You forgot stealing their snot rags."

"...and condoms," Ari added.

"So why are we meeting so secretly?"

Ari nodded to one of the guards who went to the door. Several moments later, in walked a man dressed like a local fisherman. "Is that…" I whispered to Pierre.

"Yes, Lee Sebring."

Lee was totally confused until he saw Pierre.

"Tank, what the hell is going on? How the hell was I found?"

"Lee, I can't answer how, but you might want to listen to them," he indicated jutting his chin towards Papa, Ari, and me. Ari and Dad looked at me, indicating I was to take over.

"Lee, I'm Vassi Christofondodoulous. I am a government intelligence analyst as are these two gentlemen who wish to remain anonymous. I am recuperating from a spinal injury with Dr. Robert Brown, a trauma specialist, but you know him as Bobby Brown at Rangeman."

Lee looked surprised, "Bobby the medic? OK...and..."

"For months, Rangeman has been bugged with listening and video devices as well as having their computer firewalls under nearly constant attack. While under Bobby's care, I have been trying to find out who is to blame. With this gentleman's help," I indicated Ari, "I have discovered a very disturbing number of fatherless birth records over the last 50 plus years and the offspring are generally working in political jobs or law enforcement. The jobs range from bail bonds like you, Jeanne Ellen, and Julio Gaspar, through various law enforcement agencies, up to high-ranking government officials, such as your father, Arturo Estripe."

Lee blanched. "How did you discover him?"

"She's good," my father said blandly.

Lee shook his head, "I'd say so, but I don't understand. Which Julio Gaspar? We are talking about Julio in Newark?"

Whoa, perhaps Lee didn't know he was related to Julio. "Arturo Estripe fathered Julio Leon Gaspar, the one in Newark."

Lee was stunned but didn't say anything. I continued, "Lee, I have four questions: Why was Ranger Manoso set up for killing Jeanne Ellen? Why is Rangeman being bugged? Why was Jeanne Ellen killed? And finally, what the hell is your father doing?"

Lee took a big breath and let it out slowly. It was as if he was grateful to get the whole story out.

"Ranger and Rangeman have information that will destroy my father and his plans. Ranger was in Nicaragua about 10 years ago and discovered a giant conspiracy. Since then, he's been a constant threat to my father. When Ranger came to Trenton to find work, I wanted to hire him. Almost immediately, Arturo called and warned me off. He said I was to never have anything to do with that SOB Manoso. It wasn't until later I learned about Ranger and my father in Nicaragua."

I glanced at Pierre and our minds were on the same page, Rangeman didn't exist 10 years ago. It was because of what happened to Ranger and his fellow captives in Nicaragua, plans were developed to create a civilian security business to help soldiers transition out and back into society.

"So the bugging of Rangeman is to see if the information gathered is being used and where?"

"I'm assuming that's the reason. If they can't get to the files, then making Ranger disappear would solve the problem. At least, that is what Arturo may believe. After meeting you, I understand eliminating Ranger wouldn't stop you and now others," he said looking at Papa and Ari.

Pierre, Papa, and Ari realized my life was now in danger and possibly theirs. I continued, "Since Ranger and Rangeman do not do business with the FBI, I'm assuming your father is trying to get to all the information on _El Falcon_." I hoped my hunch was right and Estripe was _El Falcon_.

Lee nodded to my father, "Yeah, she is good." Turning back to me he continued, "I didn't like my last name and wanted to shorten it. I applied to the courts but suddenly this man shows up and demands to know why I wanted the change. I remembered him from my youth. He'd bring money to Mama. When I told him my reason for changing my name from my mother's name, Stauslowski, he agreed. However, he was adamant I could not change it to Estripe or his other name."

"Couldn't you change it to One-D Adams?" I just blindly threw my lure into a hidden hole and hoped I'd snag something. I had already scored with _El Falcon_.

Lee shook his head no. "He said he used that name when he was undercover. He couldn't use it anymore because my mother compromised it."

It was all I could do to keep from laughing about "undercover." I couldn't imagine how many women's bedrooms Arturo has visited over the years. I deflected, "Pauline released the baby photos."

Lee stared at me. "Damn, first you know about Addams and now you know about the photos. How did you find those?"

I just smiled but wouldn't answer. "So how did you put him and _El Falcon_ together?"

"I bonded out a guy some years ago who mentioned _El Falcon's_ drug smuggling. I had never heard the name so I started researching. I received a message from my father to stop immediately, it was an FBI matter."

"So you jumped to the conclusion your father was _El Falcon_?"

"No, one day Arturo called and told me to bond out someone with a high bond. When I got to the jail, the cocky SOB laughed, 'So _El Falcon_ is having his son bonded out by another son. Do you work for the FBI too?' The guy was killed in Philly two days later."

"You never said anything to your father?"

"Hell, no. I couldn't prove my father had him killed, but I wasn't taking a chance. Arturo asked if the guy said anything. I lied and told him the guy only wanted to know where was the nearest bar and broad."

"Why was Jeanne Ellen killed?"

Lee's face dropped. "I hired her years ago when I was married. When Janice died, well, I was lonely. Jeanne Ellen and I started seeing each other outside of work. Suddenly, the old man calls and says Jeanne Ellen is my half-sister and to keep my hands off her or there would be consequences."

"How did he find out?"

"I've thought about that, a lot, recently. Somebody must have seen us, reported it back to him, and from then on we were watched closely."

"Do you remember meeting anyone out of the ordinary when you and Jeanne Ellen were trying to be incognito?"

He smiled, "You think like a hunter. I remember Jeanne Ellen and I were in Bermuda and Newark police chief came up to us to ask us about our vacation."

"Bryson McDonald?" Pierre asked speaking for the first time.

"No, it was before Bryson. It was now Congressman Alonso Leonard. I figured he told my father."

My stomach rolled a bit. Capitol Hill was rife with infection.

Lee continued, "We broke it off after Arturo called me.

"It must have been a surprise you had more siblings."

"It was all unreal. I preferred not to think about it. After a couple of years we started back up again. That was three months ago. We conceived a child and were getting ready to run far from Arturo. Suddenly, she is killed by Manoso, but I know Manoso didn't do it. He was sitting in my office when it happened. We were discussing his taking over my business as I knew I was leaving."

"You never told anyone?"

"Nope, I ran here, figuring I was next."

"First, you got your brother..."

He hung his head, "He'd been institutionalized nearly all his life. His mind was long gone, he was a shell. When a toddler, he fell out of a second story window and suffered a massive brain trauma. I've been paying his bills for years but moving him around from nursing home to nursing home. Years ago, I moved him into my home to care for him. Recently, he was diagnosed with a very fast-moving cancer. When Jeanne Ellen was killed, I figured if the old man was going to kill me, better to kill my brother who suffering and at death's door. I hope whoever did the deed was quick."

"The autopsy never picked up on cancer."

"I was worried about that."

"Your father is a smart man, he would have checked on Derek."

"I think, or hope, he forgot about him. I tried to erase all information on Derek. You know that wasn't his original name."

I nodded.

Lee huffed, "Of course you do. You found the photo. Anyway, I've been caring for Derek for years, keeping him under the radar. I was hoping any hitman would not know about Derek. He was killed at my home and moved. I found blood in his chair in front of the television."

"I take it he wasn't emaciated or hooked up to machines."

"Derek was always heavier than I but lately had lost enough weight that he was about 10 pounds lighter than I. He functioned at a basic level. He could walk, feed himself finger food, dress, and tend to the toilet. I kept the refrigerator in his room stocked with sandwiches for him and lately cookies on a plate. He watched television and slept."

"You didn't burn his body in the car?"

"No, I came home, found him missing and ran like a coward."

"You don't think your father personally killed Derek?"

"No, he's old now. Or if he did, he'd need someone to carry Derek."

"What is your father doing?"

"He's evil. He wants to control this country. He tried first in foreign countries by gaining funds through drugs, arms, gems, slavery, to amass power. Money worked except against family loyalty. So he set out to create his own family. Nobody dares dishonor the family.

"Now, he's ready to take control here. He has his sons and daughters, at least those loyal to him, in positions of power. He uses his wealth to pay off politicians, companies, and countries. The rest of us are lower down, law enforcement. We would control the criminal element. Those who help him are protected. Those who challenge him are eliminated. Jeanne Ellen and I weren't the first to cross the line."

Ari stepped in, "Do you know your siblings' names?"

"A few beyond Jeanne Ellen….and now Julio Gaspar."

"And Joyce Barnhart," I added.

"No, not Joyce."

"She is your step-niece. One of your half-brothers is adding to the field."

Lee chuckled, "Misfire. Joyce is useless." He stopped and got a disgusted look on his face. I wondered if he and Joyce were once intimate.

"Several of your...siblings...are in government power positions in Washington including the CIA, DEA, Homeland Security and State Department, White House, and the courts. Others are concentrated in important state positions, and several have gone into business or are powerful on Wall Street."

"Shit, he's getting close. Are you going to stop them?"

"That is one goal. The other is to clear Manoso and end the attacks on Rangeman. If Estripe lost his FBI government position, do you think the problem would be over?" I asked.

"No, you'd have to kill the SOB. He has enough power at his fingertips now he doesn't need his FBI job. He stays on mainly as cover, the Old Man in the Hoover Building. He controls the family. Plus, I suspect some of my siblings have inherited his madness."

"Do you know where his money is?" Ari asked.

"Everywhere. Originally, it was just in South America, but now he is international. It's a global world."

"How do we clear Manoso?" I asked.

"I have proof and will testify he was with me...once my threat is eliminated. I don't want to end up like Jeanne Ellen or Derek. If you found me, he will too."

Ari nodded, "You will be safe." Ari looked VC's at Papa, Lee and Pierre, "Gentlemen, would you please step outside? I need to confer with my colleague." I was grateful he didn't repeat my name even though most people couldn't remember it anyway.

Lee shrugged, Papa looked grateful but Pierre was concerned. I squeezed his hand and whispered, "Trust him." He got up, kissed my cheek and left the aircraft.

After they had disappeared and their footsteps were no longer heard on the stairs, I asked Ari, "Do you think all would end if the principal was eliminated?"

"No, we'd have to find the money as well. Without fuel, the aircraft won't fly." Looking at me, "Can you find it?"

"I'm not a forensic accountant, Ari."

"But, as Lee said, you have the mind of a hunter. You are coming back with me to work with our people. Lee is coming too. We will place him where his enemies can't reach him."

"Make it pleasant, he just lost his brother and his beloved," I urged.

"Stanton Walker and Clive Wexler," he said plainly, without emotion.

"Yes, those are two I suspect of being Estripe's sons."

"We've confirmed it through DNA."

I chuckled. I relayed my concerns to Ari not that long ago and already he had results. "Got their coffee cups?"

"Something like that. Walker is being suggested for Ambassador to France and Wexler may become Assistant Secretary of Defense. You can't allow that to happen. They are enemies of Israel."

"Stanton Walker converted to Judaism when he got married."

Ari answered, "My dear, you remember Judenrat?"

I knew the term for Jewish traitors who turned on their family, friends, and neighbors during World War II, betraying them to the Nazis in hope for of leniency. It didn't work, they were killed as well. Judenrats are still common with elitist Jews who believe they are too wealthy, influential, or far from Israel to be bothered by the modern worldwide Jew-hating until some sick whacko steps into a Jewish deli or synagogue and kills a dozen people. "I didn't realize they were being considered."

"No, their names are still being circulated. Your father has worked with Wexler and found him dishonest. He obtained the DNA for us to test. My dear Vassi, have you researched Estripe completely, especially his associates?"

"I've concentrated on finding _El Falcon_ and his offspring. I've got a list of possible offspring but don't have evidence. I haven't begun on associates."

"According to your father, Carlton Simpson and Arturo Estripe have been friends for at least 30 years. It was Arturo's money that paid off the Army General in your court-martial."

My stomach turned. Carlton Simpson, the former senator who wanted me in Leavenworth for bruising his son's private parts. "Where is his son?"

"Gregory Simpson is an international investment specialist."

Suddenly, my mood changed. "Oh, please tell me he's in charge of Estripe's funds."

"You might want to look into him. Estripe's funds are limited but Simpson is said to have several, very well-to-do clients. Your priority now is finding the money. Stop the fuel and the movement stalls, or is at least slowed. Then, we drop your research on the White House and hope the rest of the problem is eliminated. Others can trace down the rest of the family."

"Thank you." I wanted no part in taking down the Simpsons, Arturo or the others. I felt I had opened the door and it was time now for the cleaning crews to eliminate the mess. I had been in previous cleaning crews. I preferred being the door opener.

"Your father will return to Washington, Pierre to Trenton. Pierre is a good man. He is most honorable and he's madly in love with you. Nice ring. Does your father know?"

"He does now. I saw him looking at it and at Pierre. They are probably having THE discussion outside right now. Does Pierre need to ask you as well, Papa?"

Ari laughed, "As soon as you put him on your contact list and sent private files to your brother, we've known. His coming to Tel Aviv only confirmed our beliefs. My dear, he badgered Niko to come to you then flew 5700 miles at a moment's notice to save you. I'm glad you are moving forward."

"We are not youngsters anymore. He's thinking about children. Can you imagine the two of us making children? They'd be giants."

"Are you serious about children?"

"I'm getting too old to bear children and may have residual damage. Adoption was mentioned, but we haven't really talked about it."

"Emotionally, could you handle having children? Your brother has problems with his daughters because of what happened to you."

"That's why we haven't discussed it. I'm not sure I'll ever be ready."

We waited for the three men to come back on board. My father and Tank really didn't fit in this aircraft. Nothing short of a jumbo jet would allow them to stand upright. Lee Sebring was shorter, less than 6' and had no trouble with head clearance.

Pierre swung into the seat next to me, kissed me and held my hand, but said nothing.

I began, "I'm going with Ari for a while on a treasure hunt. Lee is going on a Mediterranean vacation. You and Papa will return to the States. When Lee returns, Manoso can come home."

"How long?"

I wasn't sure of the question. "I don't know how long I'll be gone and don't know how much longer this mess will continue."

"I asked your father for your hand, though he had already seen the ring. I told him it would be a while before the wedding as you have other things on your mind right now."

I bent over and kissed him, "You just saved my hide mister since I haven't talked to him yet."

He leaned over and gave me a very tender and rapidly increasing emotional kiss, "I love your hide and everything inside it. Please be very careful with it and come home breathing and in one piece."

"And you my dearly beloved, watch yourself. I wasn't going to mention Rangeman's vermin yet, but if Arturo suspects how close we are getting, you will find yourself at risk. You must appear totally unaware of what is happening but beware of Gerald and Thomas. We will bring them down when I get back."

Papa came over and kissed me, "Stay out of trouble."

"I'm already in waist deep."

"Then, roll on your back and float," he smiled. It was one way of getting out of quicksand. "By the way, congratulations, I give both of you my blessing."

Papa then shook Ari's hand. There was deep trust between them and had been for years. Papa and Pierre left.

Lee came back and took Pierre's seat. "I don't understand what is going on."

"Lee, right now I don't know how much you should know."

He shook his head slightly acknowledging he was, at least, listening. "Who was the old man here?"

I laughed, "Which one?"

"One isn't American."

"No."

He asked with his eyes but I shook my head no, I wasn't saying more.

"Where are we going?"

"You are going someplace where your father and more aggressive brothers can't get to you. It is temporary until _El Falcon_ and his clad are de-feathered."

"Clad?"

"Falcon family. We need you back to testify Ranger was in your office when Jeanne Ellen was killed."

He looked heartbroken.

"I'm sorry. She didn't need to die."

"What type of monster is he?" Lee hung his head. "Am I anything like him?"

"You are not like him. The fact you were in bail bonds, helping people with their legal problems proves you are not like him. You loved your first wife and Jeanne Ellen. You were willing to drop everything to get away and protect her and your child. On the other hand your father is a megalomaniac, perhaps a sociopath, and a murderer."

"But I got Derek killed."

"Yes, but let us get more information for your defense."

"You and Tank are together?"

"We met years ago and now again at Rangeman. There's something growing between us."

"Does he know how to talk? I'm not sure I've heard him speak." Lee was trying to smile.

I wanted to laugh. "He doesn't chatter, he listens and observes. He's quite erudite but keeps it hidden. People assume all big, dark-skinned men are stupid and illiterate. There's a Trenton police detective who calls him a baboon."

Lee was quiet for a while as his mind sorted out his life. He was confused, afraid, mourning Jeanne Ellen and his brother, and now was being whisked off to places unknown. "I'm not sure what is going on."

"We will protect you."

"You said you are in intelligence. With whom?"

"I'm between jobs right now due to this injury."

"That's not comforting."

"Ranger Manoso trusts me."

He smiled, "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's all I can do at the moment."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

" **I'm not sure what is going on."**

Tank was met by a subpoena as he walked into Rangeman after the Canadian journey. As he entered his 5th-floor office, Lester knocked on the door, "I got one as well. I've called our attorney."

"That's why he gets the big bucks." As he sat down, Tank said to himself, "Dig fast, Vassi, and stay safe."

Stephanie blew into Tank's office. She looked frightened and exasperated, "I've been served! I don't know what to do."

"Les and I also got served. He has already called our attorney," he said touching his ear reminding her Rangeman is bugged. She understood.

"Tank is this about Ranger? I don't know where he is. He leaves so often and I never know where he's gone. He never tells me."

"Just tell them that, keep it simple. If you get flustered they will turn your words back on themselves and you won't recognize what you just said."

She nodded her head in understanding. Changing thoughts she said, "I noticed VC wasn't in the gym today."

"Something has come up, she's with her doctors. Perhaps there's more testing. It may be a while before she gets back." He went around the desk and pulled her close to his body. Whispering, he said, "Stay strong. You will have an important mission later."

-0-

 **VC POV**

It had been a long time since I was down this tunnel. The last time I walked its length, today I rolled. I much preferred walking. The security identification involved multiple different body identifications including a retinal scan. My Israeli guards offered to lift me to the scanner. I growled. Pierre is a good instructor. Pushing up, I forced my face to the eye plate. Once I was cleared, I had to change chairs before going through the door. Apparently they didn't trust my wheelchair wasn't bugged either. The new wheeled chair was a secretary office chair, no arm rests.

"At least it's not a Radio Flyer," I quipped. The Israeli solider gave me a cold stare. I held my tongue. My red wagon comment was my own attempt at trying to add a bit of humor to a very insulting situation. If they were so worried about my chair, why didn't they get me one for inside? How was I going to get myself around?

I was pushed to a cubicle where the forensic accountant was busy digging. "Colonel, I'm Ariel. Welcome to 'hide and seek.' There's the second terminal if you want to join the hunt."

"What have you found?" I rumbled. I was still pissed. Being pushed around in a secretary chair was dehumanizing, something you'd do to a colleague at a drunken Christmas party.

"I've been through the Caymans' banking system so many times I've undermined their security. We also need to look at banks in Austria, Switzerland and several ports of call in Asia."

"Oh, wonderful, a world cruise."

"Look on the bright side, we won't get seasick."

I shook my head, "No, just migraines and crossed eyes."

She looked at me as if to ask, "What's your problem?" I stopped her, "Ariel, my work deals with words more than numbers. It will take me time to adjust."

She nodded. "Do you have any thoughts on passwords to begin the search?"

I had several leads, "How many tries will we get?"

"At the most, three."

"Use the descrambler."

Ariel was surprised I knew about the descrambler. "I've used it before," was all I was going to tell her. I'll let her continue to believe it was developed solely by the Israelis. As the machine hummed, I wrote down an idea for the password.

Ariel eyes opened wide, "You betting against the machine?"

"No, but I had a brilliant moment getting into one area. Maybe it is the same gold nugget."

Less than an hour later we had two passwords. When Ariel showed them to me, I unwrapped my piece of paper and showed her what I wrote. "You could have saved us time," she hissed.

"If I was wrong, we would have been down to one chance before the files erased."

She nodded agreement and went to work. I crumbled the piece of paper where I had written _Triste_ and _Presa._

After five hours, I needed a break. "Is the loo still down the left hall?"

Never raising her eyes from the computer screen she mumbled, "Yes, ma'am."

I reached down and didn't feel my wheels. I forgot I was in a secretary chair. The only thing to do was to push off from the desk and push my way down by using the walls. I felt like a ball inside the pinball machine.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, I forgot you don't walk," came Ariel. We made it to the restroom and washed and back out into an open area, but Ariel was distracted. I was afloat at sea without a sail, paddle or wheelchair wheels. Since I was able to move a bit back in Trenton, maybe I could pivot my right foot from the heel. Yes, I gained an inch or two; I could move on my own! I looked back to see Ariel and my soldier escort watching my slow pace.

"Either get me a proper wheelchair or give me a shove."

Things started happening fast and I don't mean my legs. After forty-eight hours, _El Falcon's_ financial enterprise was known. It led us down a road nobody expected. Arturo's surface accounts were modest but there was background action I could only sense. Ariel called in other forensic accountants and they went on the prowl.

"Colonel, have you ever heard of _Adelante_?" Ariel asked after several hours.

I remembered Manoso mentioned it when he was getting "tingles" in South America. "Personally, no, but someone helping us mentioned the name in passing in reference to South America."

"This is Africa," an accountant named Noam replied.

"Curious it has come up on two continents. I'm not a numbers person. Let me research Adelante while you continue with the numbers." I settled into my keyboard and called up my own very well hidden system. Almost immediately, security firewalls blocked my passage. While the accountants were playing in their field, I was now in mine. I knew this game. As I once told Manoso, "It's what I do."

"Bingo! I've got you by the short hairs, you bloody…" I paused and looked up. Every accountant in our area was looking at me.

I was embarrassed and excited, "You aren't going to believe this," I said as corporate names started rolling down my screen.

Suddenly our little cubicle was crowded as people wanted to see what was happening. _Adelante_ wasn't a company or simple corporation. It was a web of interlocking corporations including known names and many unknown throughout the world. The forensic accountants began drooling in excitement.

Activity was worldwide: Central and South America, Africa, Asia, Russia, and, of course, the Middle East. Money was everywhere! I began to wonder how many banks were dependent on Adelante and Arturo for their solvency. I turned back to the number crunching and began to see a pattern in accounts, corporations, and names. The web was worthy of a finely-knotted, intricate, Persian rug. I sat and studied for several hours and then smiled.

"Colonel, you look like the Cheshire Cat," Ariel said.

"I think I found a loose thread in this rug." When I explained it to Ariel and several other forensic accountants, they, too, began smiling. "Somebody forgot to tie a few knots and has been slipping a few stitches," Noam said.

The first thing we noticed was someone was siphoning off money and trying to conceal the theft. To do so, they had compromised security which is how I got in. In comparing accounts and names, I recognized Arturo's offspring but also others who couldn't be part of the clad. Calling up my government lists, I crosschecked the names and found leaders in the FBI, CIA, NSA, Justice Department, Homeland Security, and other less important agencies. Mitchell Jenkins and Steve Hampton were in the FBI and Arturo's sons. Sharon Carmichael was number three at the CIA. Robert Blass was recently made director of DHS, Department of Homeland Security. Montgomery Plumber was Assistant Secretary of State. The fearsome-foursome had full access to Arturo's Adelante accounts. Still more clad making an appearance were Santiago Blanco-Ruiz, Colombian Justice Department director and his half-brother, Javier Oliveriera-Sousa in Peru. Both were directors in a corporation named _La Comunidad_. The Community was a very well hidden movement which laundered money for many wealthy individuals in South and Central America. Manoso had tuned into the group in several of his "assignments." This alone would be worth Arturo's interest to erase from Martha, the Rangeman system.

Not only did we have the higher ranking clad, offspring, we also had those non-family members who had received payoffs dating back forty years. After what Ari told me in Newfoundland, I was surprised to see former US Senator, Carlton Simpson. The only notations given for the transactions included such nebulous terms as "for services rendered," "consultations," and "contracted employee." I wondered if my illegal court-martial years ago fell under "services rendered".

In addition to Carlton Simpson, the political names receiving payments were impressive, those currently in power and those who had retired but still held political pull. The number of US military associated names was few, the Simpson scandal must have cleaned out most of those vermin years ago, but the names of big businesses and foreign government and military throughout the world was disheartening.

Sizeable payments went to Gregory Simpson's financial management company. A quick search of Simpson's company showed he had only one client, _Adelante_. Ari was right. Simpson had a limited clientele.

One name caught us by surprise: Aries Pretturo, a recluse multi-billionaire who never appeared in public. It took me seconds to rearrange Arturo Estripe into Aries Pretturo. Was Arturo's alter-ego Aries? Lee had mentioned Arturo had to give up the name Addams, Daniel Addams. Was Aries his new cover?

Thanks to the person siphoning the money, in this case Gregory Simpson, we also had pathways into all of _Adelante's_ accounts throughout the world. I didn't know if Gregory or one of his employees was the thief. No wonder the forensic accountants had such big smiles on their faces. We had business names, attorneys' names, locations, and best of all, account numbers.

I asked a simple question, though I knew the answer was anything but simple, "How much damage can we do?"

Ariel shook her head, "First of all we need approval. We will have to be very careful what we can undermine or just plain steal without setting off global repercussions."

Repercussions. My mind went back months before when others had no qualms about destroying a country with thermonuclear devices. Just how often had the world tittered up to the end and either backed off or was forced to retreat? What madness consumed Arturo Estripe? He needed to be stopped.

Ariel was still talking, "…what we divert immediately will result in cash flow problems which will eventually result in businesses failing."

I thought of Ari's example: "An airplane won't fly without fuel." A better example would have been without ready capital or collateral, the business fails.

I sat with Ari, sipping tea after dinner, "Reading through all of Arturo's offspring, their jobs, and the decades of payoffs, I get the feeling, Ari, it's a quagmire in Washington."

"Washington, Jefferson, and Madison are probably rolling over in their graves," he chuckled. "But this does explain a lot."

"With regards to Israel?"

"Arturo/ _El Falcon_ /Aries/ _Adelante_ has funneled trillions into weapons for our enemies throughout the world. I don't mean to single us out, there are other groups also under attack: religious organizations, secular and social groups…the list is almost endless.

Then my mind cracked open and I groaned out loud.

"Vassi, are you ill?" Ari asked with concern.

"Arturo Estripe was born in New York City. His surname is his mother's, like all his offspring. His mother was born in New York City. There was a father listed on one document. He was Henri Faucon, a 1945 Argentinian immigrant. I'm wondering if the father might not have come from France, but rather from Germany and his real name might have been Heinrich Falke. _Faucon_ and _Falke_ are French and German for the falcon. How did I miss that?"

"You only confirmed Arturo was _El Falcon_ from Lee Sebring in Newfoundland. Since then, you've been looking for money. You found Aries Pretturo. Now his empire must be dismantled immediately and suddenly before his heirs can take control."

"Ari, what is _Adelante's_ ultimate goal? Is it to cause civil unrest and revolution? Or is it to eliminate the undesirables? Is he seeking revenge for his father's country's defeat? Is he starting his own New World Oder?"

"My dear daughter, it will take time to deduce the purpose. He might be using a Utopia argument to keep his people energized when in reality he might want to start the largest smuggling cartel in the world. Drugs are more profitable than oil. Or maybe he wants there to be an Estripe family to rival the House of Saud in Saudi Arabia? There are many reasons, none of which are good."

"To bring light to the mess in Washington, we need a Diogenes and his lantern to find the one honest person in Washington to plow through this mess. Or perhaps I should say, slash through this mess," I said with a sigh.

"Trim your wicks," he said, looking directly into my eyes.

Oh, hell. He wanted me to be Diogenes. Or was I to fall on the sword? "What about Papa and Niko?"

"You will have to keep them safe."

"I can't endanger you and your country."

"We have the resources to check on the _Faucon_ and _Falke_ angle. If your suspicions are correct, we have to be involved."

"The organization is too complicated. He's been building his army for decades. You think we can dismantle it overnight?"

"No, but we can stop the money. As I said initially, the aircraft won't fly without fuel. But this is far larger than an aircraft; this is a major high-rise building. The World Trade Towers fell when just a few floors were compromised."

I'm sitting in this damn chair because some building was compromised thanks to an underground nuclear explosion. I finally have happiness in my life with Pierre and I'm looking at Leavenworth or worse. Manoso worried about his enemies. What was I collecting? Maybe Pierre and I can live in obscurity somewhere in the world.

"Time to talk to the President," he said.

"Yours or ours?"

"Yours. Your father has his ear."

"How do we know if the President is trustworthy?"

Ari looked at me and smiled. It was the smile of a parent letting his child figure things out on their own.

"Oh yeah, you had a complete work up on his heritage and beliefs before he received the nomination. OK, but what about his advisors?"

"Ariel has already found one White House suspect. There may be more. You'll have to assume everyone is questionable. The President is coming to Israel in two weeks. I can arrange for him to meet with you privately. We'll use the guise of a US Army Colonel receiving cutting-edge medical care in Israel."

"Thanks loads, Ari. Give me two weeks to prepare a 5-minute talk where I tell him one of the most trusted men in the FBI and a multi-billionaire are one and the same and have been planning a coup with his own illegitimate children four of whom are on the Security Council."

"My dear, I know you can do this. I've watched you many times giving our Prime Ministers briefings. Keep your talking points sharp."

Sharp. My mind flashed back to falling on the sword.

-0-

I sat in the small room with two Israeli security guards. I had been searched by so many people my skin microbiome organisms were going to sue me for harassment. I was stuck on a hardwood chair without any wheels. My wheelchair was exiled down the hall. What is it with Israelis and wheelchairs?

Both guards stiffened. The voices in their earbuds must have informed them it is show time. The door opened and a man stuck his head in and nodded. My two guards backed out the other door. The front door man backed out and stood back as the POTUS, President of the US, stepped in. My eyes looked to his eyes, but I saw a hand drop something into his pocket, a listening device.

He stepped forward, "VC, it is a pleasure to meet George's daughter."

"Thank you, Mr. President. Excuse me for not standing."

He laughed while I put my finger to my lips indicating he should be silent.

He complied but with confusion and anger. You don't hush up the President. Keeping my finger to my lips I pointed to the pocket with the listening device and then pointed to my ear. Thankfully he understood and reached into his pocket. He was surprised to find the device. I put my hand out in the "give me" sign while I casually said, "It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, sir. I don't know if you find this room as warm as I. If you are uncomfortable, you can hang your coat over there." He mumbled something and removed his jacket as he handed me the listening device. I put it under my thigh.

"Sir, thank you for using VC as my full name is a mouthful: Vas-si-li-ki-Christo-fondo-doulous. Why my family hasn't shortened their name to something simple I don't know, but then what would it be? Fodo?"

He chuckled. "That's why most people call your father General George," he said. He bent over and searched his pant cuffs. For a moment I thought POTUS was bowing to me.

"Sir, I have but a few minutes to tell you a coup has been in the making for forty years to take over the US." He jerked up and I wondered about his back muscles. He didn't speak, he nodded to proceed.

I expected the expression of disbelief I received but having the evidence under my thigh helped convince him. My mind flashed. Who planted the bug? Arturo or Ari? I gave Arturo the odds at 99-01. Ari would have bugged the room, probably the wood chair, or implanted a listening device on or in my body.

After completing my spiel and as I returned the listening device to the President's hand, I finished up, "Sir, thank you for this visit. I hope this experimental treatment will get me out of this chair."

He made some platitude in return but his mind was already racing far ahead. He put his suit jacket back on and left. After a few moments, my two security guards returned. I decided I would not ask Ari if he listened in. It didn't matter as he'd probably lie to me anyway.

-0-

I had given POTUS names of the Security Council clad members, other well-placed government offspring as well as those who he had been paying off for years. I also dropped the name of the White House mole. Of course, he thought I was nuts until I asked him who was close enough to him to drop a listening device into his pocket. I knew what it was like to be isolated, not knowing who to trust, but I imagined being POTUS and knowing your main advisor was suspect, your cabinet was infested, Capitol Hill, including the Supreme Court, was verminous was far worse. The only person he could trust was my father who, fortunately, was familiar with the situation.

-0-

It was my first day back from Israel and I was spending it in my usual haunt, the gym. Hector came into the gym and watched me for a few minutes. I was waiting for a message so I wasn't surprised Hector would be the carrier. I noticed Thomas was working on the weights, no doubt keeping an eye on me.

"Ah, Hector, a _yúdame, toma_ mis piernas." I hoped asking him to hold him my legs down while I did sit-ups would get us close enough to be able to speak but avoid Thomas and the listening devices. To reduce the strain on my lower back, I slid a rolled towel under my knees and leaned forward. I responded " _Por favor,_ _cuenta_ , please count. Give me… _dos_ _minutos_."

He asked, _Estás_ _listo_ _?_

I nodded, yes, I was ready.

 _Tres, dos, uno_...go!

I'm not 22 anymore, but I gave it my all. Like a piston, up and down, I concentrated on getting oxygen into my lungs as my abs burned in protest. My back ached, but more so my tailbone. Where did my fanny cushion go?

 _Tres, dos, uno...alto!_

Others in the gym had also been counting and gave me an ovation and hoots. During the noise, Hector leaned over and whispered, "Dix commissary 14:00 today." Then loudly said," _Ochenta y_ uno (81).

I nodded and rolled onto my side to rest. " _Solo_ _disparame,_ _mi amigo._ " (Just shoot me, my friend) I huffed and puffed and reminded myself, I'm definitely not 22 years old anymore and needed more muscle or fat on my behind.

Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst is a sprawling affair through the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, southeast of Trenton and stretching east almost to the Atlantic Ocean. Lakehurst Naval Air Station remains in history as the place the rigid airship Hindenburg, exploded in May 1936. The base commissary is a holdover from when military bases were out in the boonies and access to regular stores was impossible. Today, they exist as a discount shopping mecca for retired and on-duty service personnel.

Today's driver was Hal, the 6'3" muscle-bound former Ranger I had originally met in Billabong years ago. He had the IDs to get on base with me. I grabbed a hand basket and set myself off down the aisles suspecting I knew who was waiting. Hal remained behind but in true Rangeman fashion, stayed vigilant but not obtrusive. Difficult for a man nicknamed the Halosaurus.

With several items in my basket, I glanced at Hal who nodded 'all clear' and headed towards the candy aisle. It was always my favorite place in the commissary and where my parents would find me drooling at the offerings. In addition to American candy, there was Belgian, German, English, Argentinean, Japanese, and Swiss. Just as I did as a child, I found my mouth getting juicy. A man in tan slacks and a polo shirt carrying a basket came near. I didn't need to look, I recognized the aftershave. It comforted me throughout my childhood.

"Excuse me, sir, would you hand me the nonpareils on the top shelf?" I asked kindly.

A quiet chuckle erupted, "You hate these."

As the box came to my hand, flash drives were exchanged. Looking at the box, "You ought to read the ingredients label. The big scandal over preservatives years before hasn't entirely removed the questionable products," I said. I was telling Papa there were a few top-ranking military names as well.

He turned and moved further down the aisle and I moved to the next aisle.

I had done my part. My lists were headed to the President. Now it was up to higher powers to rein in Arturo Estripe and his plot.

I felt the small piece of paper Papa had passed into my pocket. I didn't look at it until I was safe with Hal in the Rangeman vehicle. "GTHOD 5." I cringed. Get the hell out of Dodge in five days. To where could I escape? I wondered if Lee Sebring could use a companion wherever he ended up. My mind flashed on the Batman comics. This would require super-human effort.

Pierre met us at a diner instead of Rangeman, being ever mindful of listening devices. "Pierre, I need to get the hell out of Dodge in five days. Do you think Batman could help?"

He looked at me strangely. He didn't know if I was referring to Ranger or the fictional superhero.

"Don't you have a beacon you shine into the sky to contact him? He comes swinging through town and grabs me and carries me off."

"I think you have your superheroes mixed up," he chuckled.

"You are my only superhero," I said as I grabbed his hand under the table. "Papa's warning. Things are about to get ugly."

"You can't go back to...?" He hesitated to say Israel with Hal sitting at the table.

I shook my head no.

"Five days?" Tank asked. "Can your father help?"

"I've put him into a difficult situation. He and Niko have to keep their distance. As we discussed earlier, we are going to need your best person in distractions."

Hal looked at Pierre but knew not to say anything. Pierre nodded, "She knows she'll be called up. You can trust her. It will be something different for her, but with training she will do fine." Hal's eyes showed he agreed.

A/N: Chapter names and characters are fictionalized. They do not represent current or past political situations in South America or Europe.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

" **Get the Hell out of Dodge."**

"Thomas," Lester bellowed, "You are on lady patrol today."

"What? Yes, sir." One of the two Arturo offspring who had been working at Rangeman for months jumped to his feet.

"The ladies, Bomber and the Colonel, are going shopping at Quaker Bridge and across the street at Mercer Mall. They will probably eat lunch there, too. You are the driver and security."

Thomas had been dreading this assignment after hearing horror stories from other Rangemen. Any manner of disaster could occur if Stephanie was involved. The fact that he was also being assigned to guard Tank's fiancée didn't help. His father had cautioned him about the Colonel, never believing her being in the building was a coincidence. So far Thomas and his half-sibling Gerald had only noted the increasing relationship between Tank and the tall woman in the wheelchair. She rarely left the building except to go to the Newark VA. The only exceptions were when she met with Joyce Barnhardt or the one time she and Tank met clients in Newark. Gerald tracked her movements each time she left the building. At Rangeman, she was either in the gym or her room. He had searched her room repeatedly but found nothing. After the initial attempts at bugging her room, she found future devices and smashed them. Hector, the security man, checked her room several times a day. Somehow, Hector failed to find the bugging devices outside her room, or so they thought. Unfortunately, they had gained little insight into her activities.

Today, Gerald would bug their vehicle. Hopefully the women will talk about Manoso. Thomas offered to direct the conversations, but Gerald cautioned his brother to remain mute, remembering his position as driver/security not a confidant.

VC POV

As Thomas drove, Stephanie began her well-rehearsed role, "I'm glad you could get away and come with me. When I was working for my cousin Vinnie, Lula would shop with me."

I had my phone in hand and flashed the screen to Stephanie indicating there were listening devices on board. Stephanie nodded.

I continued, "Did Lula supply security on your trips?"

Stephanie laughed, "Hardly. She is as much a security nightmare as I am. Plus, she was a little trigger-happy."

I gasped, "Did she actually shoot someone?"

"She hit someone in the toe with a misfire, but generally it was all threats."

"I'm glad she's not with us today. I'm looking forward to a nice, quiet outing for a change. I think it is called age and the loss of hormones."

"Are you referring to estrogen?"

"No, adrenaline. I was an adrenaline junkie for too long," I said sighing and shaking my head.

"Is that a hormone?"

"Indeed, it is. It's also known as epinephrine. It is a neurotransmitter produced by the adrenal glands. My adrenals were bruised so maybe my paralysis and laziness has a reason. Speaking of laziness, without Bobby or Pierre watching my dinner plate, I'm looking forward to 'real' food. Is there any worthy food where we are going?"

Stephanie perked up. "I'm assuming you'll veto hotdogs and pretzels, but there is a Japanese fast food in the food court serving sushi."

I flashed back to the Mercer County Fair and my kidding Pierre about sushi. "Fast food sushi? I'd rather eat the hotdog. The preservatives may not be good for you, but they won't kill you immediately like food poisoning."

"If you are going to be picky, there's also a Tuscan restaurant."

"Probably American-Tuscan filled with pasta and cream sauces. Anything else?"

"Mercer Mall has a Bonefish and a Hooters."

Rolling my eyes I muttered, "Oh great, fish and tits."

Stephanie chuckled. "VC, what is the largest mall you've been in?"

"Which country? Malls are universal. Did you know the first 'shopping center' was Cherry Creek in Denver built in 1953? It was open air and is still going strong today, though vastly enlarged. The first enclosed mall was in 1956, the Southdale mall outside of Minneapolis." Extending my fingers I began counting off various malls, "I've been to Southdale's offspring, the Mall of America and the larger King of Prussia in Pennsylvania. Dubai is a shopper's paradise. The second largest mall in the world is the Dubai Mall, a mere 3.7 million square feet. For elegance, there is the Burjumani Center and Mall of the Emirates. It's best to have an unlimited black credit card for those two. If you want gold jewelry, those are the places to shop. The SM Mall in the Philippines isn't opulent but it is 4.7 million square feet. Unfortunately, with the advent of computer shopping, classic indoor malls are having a hard time of it."

"Wow, you know your malls. You must really like to shop," Steph exclaimed.

"I detest shopping."

Stephanie was flabbergasted, "You don't like to shop? I thought shopping was in our genes. Whenever I'm depressed, I shop. That is, if I have the money."

"Steph, one has to be consumer oriented. I've never have been. I stay with the basics mainly because I moved around too much. I didn't need stuff as I'd have to throw it away, give away or lug to the next assignment."

Stephanie looked at me like I was nuts. "What do you wear to parties and formal occasions?"

"First of all, I don't party. Any formal occasion was usually military and I'd wear the Army Mess Uniform."

She all but rolled her eyes. "What about civilian formal affairs?"

"I had an LBD with pearls."

Stephanie started laughing, "Little black dress, you so fit into Rangeman. We need to expand your wardrobe."

That was the key phrase to intensify our discussion, 'expand your wardrobe.' I huffed, "Stephanie, your body type is designed for shopping and clothes. You wear a normal size, your legs are the new modern length, and you look good in anything you wear. Look at me. I'm a freak. No mall store will fit me. Even with those so-called "tall people stores" a blouse barely reaches my belly button. A short dress allows my ass to show in the back and the pubis in the front. All pants are too short in the crotch giving me a wedgie."

Stephanie glanced at Thomas and winked at me. I needed to continue being graphic.

"Most stores have never heard of women's shoes above a ten. The only place I find shoes is a cross- dresser's store. That's quite an experience, going in and knowing the salesperson probably isn't female and has an unusual interest in your calf. It didn't help mine were always muscular."

"Yipes, did anyone want to suck your toe?"

Judging from Thomas' pink ears he wasn't the only one to know 'sucking toe' was a euphemism for a BJ. "Not when I said I am a 'natural female.' All I can find in typical mall stores are jewelry, underwear, and two-piece swimsuits that barely cover my nipples and pants that leave most of the ass crack showing."

"Then we'll have to make sure we stop at the lingerie store, just for Tank."

"Do you think they will carry his size?" I smiled.

We didn't give Thomas a chance to recover from the toe-sucking comment. Stephanie and I tried to be a bit too graphic when discussing undergarments. Thomas tried not to listen, but judging from the back of his ears, he was still blushing. The young man was uncomfortable with cup-less and pushup bras, garter belts and fishnet stockings, crotch-less underwear, and see-through negligees.

"Steph, is there a Fredericks store in the mall?"

"No. Why, you looking for edible underwear?

"Pierre isn't into sugar…ah, at least that type."

Stephanie giggled, "So what are you looking for at Fredericks: leather harness, chokers, and other bondage devices? We might have some in the storage rooms as Rangeman. Otherwise, we might have to go to Spencer's for those items."

I wasn't sure what a Spencer's was but carried on, "No, I remember seeing a woman in a bar with a vinyl skirt and bra. I asked her where she purchased it. She said Fredericks. You could wear vinyl on the distractions. Not only do men LOVE to touch it, but you could also wipe off any of their spilled liquids."

Thomas was sweating.

After endless stores with clothes and shoes for Stephanie, we zeroed in on the lingerie store with the sexy underwear on the mannequin in the front window. "Let's go see if they have any Naughty Knickers," she said enthusiastically.

Thomas was having flashbacks to our car discussions and wouldn't come near the store which was exactly our plan. I rolled up to the store entrance and glanced back at Thomas, "Are you coming in?"

With his bright red face he answered, "No, ma'am."

Stephanie knew to play up the sexual aspect of the visit to keep Thomas out in the mall gallery. She held up the smallest thong underwear. Thomas studied his shoes. She held up bras modeling them against her chest. Thomas admired the ceiling. I thought we'd lose Thomas when she held a red bustier up, wiggled her hips as if to ask "What do you think?" The bikini swimsuit with three tiny patches of cloth and long strings probably made him remember the nipple and ass crack comment because he backed up further into the gallery. I pushed myself behind a clothes rack and continued back to the dressing rooms. Stephanie needed to provide a long enough distraction for me to vanish.

-0-

 **Stephanie POV**

When VC and Tank told me how VC needed time to escape the mall, I knew I'd need more time than I could waste inside the lingerie store. My good friend Mary Lou has a niece who frequents the mall with friends several days a week. Calls were made and mall gift cards arranged for a bit of distraction and rapid dispersion.

While VC was removed from the store's rear entrance, a group of high school kids who had been properly paid came down the mall loudly laughing. Suddenly one was pushed into Thomas spilling cola over his uniform. A big fuss was made about cleaning him up. When the ruckus was over, Thomas realized he had lost sight of VC and me. He rushed into the store forgetting his shyness, "Ms. Plum, are you here?"

I answered, "Yes, I'm getting dressed I'll be out in a minute."

"Miss Plum, is the Colonel with you?"

"No. The dressing room is too small for the two of us. She should be there in amongst the clothes racks. Don't you see her?"

Thomas ran around the racks before the sales lady spoke up, "If you are referring to the lady in the wheelchair, she went to a dressing room to try on a bra."

"Colonel, Colonel," Thomas called from the hall leading to the dressing rooms. He was going no further into the woman's store. Eventually I came out and went back to where I thought VC had gone, first checking every other dressing room. When I opened the door, I paused then called Thomas, "We've got a problem. You'd better come back and look."

Reluctantly he shuffled down the hall not glancing at the now open changing rooms. At the end room where VC had been he found the store bra, her blouse, wheelchair, and wristlet holding her cell phone and cards but not VC. Mall security was called, the Mercer County sheriff and, of course, Rangeman. I knew I had to carry the charade on a bit longer, "I should have been keeping an eye on her. Tank is going to kill me." The longer I carried on, the longer it took the police to get into the investigation.

Mall security replayed the video feed of the service hall and store's back door. Two men with a covered clothing rack come into the hall, went beyond the lingerie store, then back. Suddenly the video turned to fuzz. When it came back on, then men with the rack were leaving the building. Dressed in coveralls and with their pulled low they could not be identified. The rack was loaded onto the power hoist and into the van with no license plate. The men closed the van door, walked to the van front and drove away. The van's owner never knew his vehicle had been borrowed for the hour the kidnapping required. If the owner had noticed the van missing from its Trenton location, it would have taken additional time to tie it to the crime in Lawrenceville.

The scene at Quaker Bridge Mall was chaotic. Thomas, the store clerk and I were questioned endlessly first by the mall security and then by the sheriff. I was surprised Joe Morelli hadn't shown up but then the mall wasn't in Trenton. Pity, because the ranting Joe would have gone through would have added to the delay.

The teenagers who caused the ruckus were not identified and could not be found. Tank was trying to be mad at me. I'm sure glad it was a ruse because it felt real. I stuck to my story and even cried blaming myself for "dragging Vassi" to the mall. "Why can't I go shopping without a disaster?"

Turning to Thomas, Tank knew he needed to give VC more time to get away. "What the fuck were you doing the whole time, Thomas?"

The young man was afraid. He knew punishment would be meted out on the mats back at Rangeman if he survived long enough to get there. "Sir, I was outside the store."

The sheriff pointed to Thomas and me and said, "Let's go down to the store and you can show us exactly where everyone was."

Tank tagged along and when we were outside the store, he turned to Thomas as said, " Where were you standing, Fuck-up?"

Thomas indicated his general location.

"This gives you limited visibility into the store. At best, you see fifty square feet, less than a third of the open area. Tell me if I'm wrong, Fuck-Up: can you see the hall leading to the dressing rooms?"

Thomas could only shake his head no.

"When did Ms. Plum move to the dressing room?" the sheriff asked.

Thomas swallowed, "I don't know. I didn't see her."

"So you lost track of her in this open area?" Tank exploded.

"Yes, sir."

"And you lost track of a 6'2" woman in a wheelchair?"

"Yes, sir."

Tank shook his head, "I've always had reservations about hiring Air Force personnel. You aren't trained properly to find your way out of a latrine. When the police finish questioning you, report back to Rangeman immediately. We'll see about correcting your eyesight."

The sheriff tried to take back the investigation.

-0-

 **VC POV**

After several vehicle changes, I arrived at the safe house wrapped with a blanket. The cold was penetrating as I only had a thin camisole and my trousers. No words were uttered or names were exchanged. Once at an out-of-the-way cabin, I was transferred to a lightweight wheelchair that had seen better days. As we entered the cabin's front door, one 'kidnapper' uttered an all-encompassing, "Colonel." I nodded, "Gentlemen." As I watched the men drive away, another man emerged from the back of the house. Without turning to see who was coming I said, "Nice place, Ranger."

"Colonel, ah, VC, compared to some places we've lived this is the Taj Mahal."

I snorted, "Believe it not, I've never been there. Are the bathrooms handicap accessible?"

He snorted his laugh. Then he became the consummate host, "I have fresh clothes and hot food for you."

"I'm going to have to stay in the clothes to get properly gamey, but would appreciate something more than this blanket and any hot food available. Steph and I never got to Hooters for lunch."

-0-

Ransom was the first thought, so General Christofondodoulous' communications were monitored. As he quietly listened to instructions from CID, the Army's investigative branch, DOD, and NSA, he realized he forgot to tell his daughter, "Get out of Dodge **quietly**." Then again, all this fuss would give the President and others a chance to begin the dismantling of _El Falcon's_ empire. The General had long ago learned to quit underestimating his daughter.

"General, do you know what your daughter has been working on?" the CID investigator began.

"She is in rehab, she is not currently on duty," the concerned father answered.

"Does she know Carlos Manoso?"

"Of course. She rents an apartment from Rangeman in Trenton to be with Dr. Robert Brown, her rehab specialist."

"Mr. Manoso is missing."

"I understand there were killings in Newark and Trenton. Do you think he, too, has been killed? Or do you believe he is part of it? Captain Manoso was a highly decorated Army Ranger and is the major owner in Rangeman in four cities. He and his company have worked on numerous projects involving national security or high-ranking government officials. Does that sound like a murderer?"

"It is information we are getting from the FBI," the CID officer said.

The general stared at the CID man, "Why is the FBI involved in murders within New Jersey? Isn't that local or state jurisdiction? Do your own investigation. Don't listen to others."

"Sir?"

"Start your own investigation."

The CID major hesitated. He was not usually the one to run investigations. This was a non-com's job. And he needed the best. He needed Sergeant Major Perkins on this case, ASAP.

The E9, Sergeant Major Perkins stood 5'10", ruddy skin and close-cropped, strawberry blond, showing grey, hair, hazel eyes, and a well-muscled chest and arms. He could pass for any number of occupations including civilian blue collar jobs. He was ideal for undercover work. His accent was Brooklyn, Boston or Baton Rouge depending on the case. Actually, he was from Bremerton, Washington. Sergeant Major Perkins held two master degrees earned while in service.

"I take it the locals are assuming this is a ransom case," the SGM said softly.

"You don't?" the CID major asked.

"Not with her record. This has something to do with Spooksville," SGM Perkins' remarked using his own personal name for intelligence.

"Her father, the General, and friend of the President, indicated the FBI may be involved...but not on our side…on the other side."

"Do I need to talk to him?" Sergeant Major Perkins asked.

"I wouldn't. If she was investigating the FBI then he can't say anything more. He gave us our one clue. The FBI may be monitoring him as much as his calls."

"The place she's been receiving rehab, Rangeman, it is quite a security company. The staff is heavy in Benning and Little Creek graduates," referring to Ranger school and the East Coast SEAL training base.

The CID officer smiled, "Don't forget the MPs who work there as well."

"Is Rangeman some paramilitary security company?" Perkins asked.

The major shrugged, "Maybe or it may be an exit portal, giving them jobs as they ease back into their civilian world."

"I need to visit Trenton."

-0-

Tank and Stephanie kept up their charade. As the weeks went by, he became terse with her in front of the men, accusing her of incompetence in her work and in her life. She broke down easily. Lester and Bobby were read into the plan. Their parts were to ride Tank for "picking on poor Stephanie" always within earshot of Thomas and Gerald. When Tank gave orders on Rangeman business he did so with increasing volume and decreasing patience. This, in turn, kept the fission level at Rangeman high.

Periodically, Tank would let himself into VC's room, leaving the door open so others could see him. He was portraying the grieving fiancé. There wasn't much acting, he was deeply worried about her but knew Ranger would keep her safe.

Apparently, Gerald and Thomas were reporting back to Arturo the situation at Rangeman was precarious. Arturo figured now was the best time to stage an FBI invasion of Rangeman on the pretense of looking for Manoso. The ultimate plan was to get to the server in the basement. This, in turn, would get them to Martha in Miami.

Hector and VC had already dumped everything into an offsite auxiliary server that was completely sealed from the one on Haywood. As a result of the polonium incident years before, Rangeman had improved its ability and speed to switch to an auxiliary site and carry on business. VC added the barrier between the two sites. _La Nube_ was Rangeman's own cloud.

The FBI stormed in and produced paperwork demanding access to the entire facility to look for Carlos Manoso. Tank had already contacted the Rangeman attorneys having them on standby for the expected invasion. Not surprisingly, the FBI head investigator demanded all command floor personnel as well as IT personnel report to the gym to be interviewed. It appeared as if Rangeman was unmanned and the FBI techies set to work. VC, Hector, and Silvio had spent many hours programming convoluted, dead-end files for the pseudo-Rangeman for the FBI to view.

It was into this chaos SGM Perkins strode. The FBI swarmed all over him. "Who the hell are you?" the FBI agent in charge demanded. When SGM Perkins stated his business was looking into the disappearance of an Army officer who was receiving treatment at Rangeman, the agent nearly growled. "That's not our concern. Get a warrant." SGM Perkins called his superiors.

Tank watched and smiled internally as his face held a scowl. He would put his money on the SGM for being able to put down the Hoover-idiot and not break a sweat and get the guy fired, all in less than thirty minutes. No way the DOD, Department of Defense, wanted FBI in Rangeman with Ranger's work. The Pentagon and FBI were arguing jurisdiction. Rangeman attorneys were demanding answers and were calling federal judges to get a restraining order to get the FBI out of the building. The disruption didn't last long. The FBI agent in charge's cell phone rang. Tank watched as the man's face quickly went brilliant red as he waved his arms around. In short, the FBI was ordered to leave the building. Tank checked his cell phone clock, thirty-seven minutes and the sergeant never got a chance to deck the agent. Pity.

Hector and his team immediately began checking over Rangeman for any new devices the FBI might have left behind. They found several dozen more listening devices and video devices. Some were removed immediately, others turned to blank walls or corners rendering them useless. Bink, a member of the team was crawling among the computer equipment in the server room when he quickly called Tank, "We have explosive devices in the server room."

Tank reached for the emergency button to evacuate the building but hesitated. Instead he texted, "Ram, Emergency E, server room, STAT!" He then texted everyone one in the building to leave quietly, taking vehicles as if it was a shift change. Anyone watching from outside might not understand an evacuation was underway. Surely he didn't want TPD or the FBI to know they were evacuating.

Ram, the Rangeman bomb expert arrived and looked at the devices, then chuckled. "Only a few are armed. Our guests had to leave before they got the job done. Bink deserves a bonus, these are well hidden."

"Can you disarm them?" Tank asked.

"Easily. I'll remove everything."

Once Ram had removed the devices totally from Rangeman, the building was rechecked and deemed "clean" remembering they still had a few of the earlier monitors in place. During the chaos no Rangeman information was compromised and best of all, no clients were ever in jeopardy as the backup crew commanded by Hal and Cal was manning the monitors at the auxiliary location.

Within the hour, Tank was summoned by Eric from the front lobby, "Sergeant Major Don Perkins, Army CID, to see you, sir."

"I'll be right down." Tank contacted Hector, "Background Sergeant Major Don Perkins, CID, let's make sure he had 2 parents and 4 grandparents."

Hector quickly replied, "The Colonel already checked him out."

"How?"

"She knew he'd be assigned the case."

Tank walked down the steps wondering how far Vassi was ahead of this investigation. Tank arrived to meet the CID investigator and was immediately impressed. Though pushing 40 years old, he was still in good shape, muscular, only the wrinkles around his eyes indicated he wasn't a young pup.

"Sergeant Major, I'm Tank Sherman. I'm sorry you had to walk in during the chaos."

"Mr. Sherman, I'm heading up the investigation into Colonel Christofondodoulous' disappearance. I didn't expect to find the FBI tearing the place apart."

Tank nodded, "Thank you for your quick call to Washington."

"I would have returned sooner but FBI agent Kelly and I had a discussion. I suspect he'll find his new assignment in North Dakota to be less stressful."

Tank was speechless. The Sergeant continued, "This wasn't Agent Kelly's first fuck-up. There's some question where he got his authority for coming here. He tends to go off on his own from time to time as if he works for someone else."

Tank smiled, "He just may."

The Sergeant looked confused for a moment but was quickly back on track, "I'd like to talk to you and your staff."

"They will be rather testy after the FBI intrusion."

"I understand, sir. Mr. Sherman, I'd like to cover some basics," and proceeded to ask only background questions. "I'd like to see her room."

Once they reached the 4th floor, Tank removed his phone and placed it on the hallway window ledge and raised his eyebrows and tipped his head indicating Perkins should do the same. Once inside the room, Tank relaxed, "This room is swept for video and listening devices three times a day. It is one of the few clean rooms in the building. We may speak freely here."

"Mr. Sherman, what the hell is going on?"

"Remember your comment about Agent Kelly? You are closer than you think. If there wasn't solid proof, it would be one heck of a fable." It took a while for Tank to cover everything.

Tank handed Perkins several flash drives, "All, or most of it is here. Vassi was sure you would be assigned to the case."

"How?"

Tank shook his head, "She's good and has more than a few trustworthy friends in D.C. Trust me, she has been working this for months and needed to disappear while the whole thing crumbles. We need to get back to our phones as no doubt someone is monitoring them."

The SGM looked skeptical.

"She showed us how conversations can be picked up through the microphones even when the phone isn't in use. Basically, if you carry a cell phone, someone with the right equipment and computer system can listen in."

"I've heard something about that, but thought it was an urban myth."

Tank grunted, "Believe it."

As they went back and got the phones Tank began, "As you saw, there's not much here. Since she's been transferred so often during her career, she has kept her personal items to a minimum." Tank knew Hector had her laptop hidden.

"The room is pretty Spartan," Perkins said.

Tank chuckled, "Exactly the term I used, asking if it refers to her Greek genes. Actually, she was born, raised and served in the Army. She hasn't had a chance, or salary, to develop a taste for excesses. Here she mostly she spends her days in the gym trying to regain use of her legs."

"Yes, I was told she was injured in the Middle East. How is her rehab going?"

"She is making progress, praise God, modern science, and her perseverance. She also spends time on our gun range keeping up her proficiency. She is respected by everyone here and her missing is causing great concern."

"Do you think Ms. Plum was involved?"

Since they were no longer in VC's room, Tank had to maintain the deception regarding Stephanie for the listening devices, "I thought Bomber's fuck-up days were over. Wherever she goes, chaos follows. There has to be a reason. It is more than bad karma."

"Mr. Manoso is missing too."

"Yeah, that's why the FBI just paid us a visit. I don't know what the hell is going on. He could be working on an FTA case or looking at new cities to expand." Tank paused to type something into his cell phone but did not send it. He turned his cell and showed SGM what he typed, "FBI left EDs behind. We disposed of them."

The SGM turned to stone and flashed a look at Tank indicating he wanted to see them.

Tank nodded assent.

SGM was back on role-playing mode, "Mr. Sherman, do you have many interstate Failures To Appear?"

"Usually bigger bonds are more likely to run, increasing the need to find them. Also, other security companies contact him to help bring in their worst missing person," Tank responded as he erased his phone message.

"Does he do this often?"

Tank mumbled, "It varies." Tank pointed to his phone as if to remind SGM Perkins about unauthorized listeners then tapped out a new message, "Black Ops." He showed it to the Sergeant Major who nodded. He was remembering, thinking about Rangeman's unusually well-trained employees.

"I assume you make enemies from the bounty hunting work," the SGM said just to make noise for any listening devices.

Tank grumbled, "Yeah, we've pissed off a lot of people who don't want to go to or back to jail."

"So the Colonel is strictly involved in her rehab?"

Tank shrugged, "Normally, she is in the gym or her room. She did come onto the command floor once to talk to Stephanie, but that was just one time. They socialize in the gym. I believe they are developing a friendship, or at least were."

"Does the Colonel leave the building?"

"In the months she's been here, most outings are to Newark for her treatments. Either Bobby, our doctor, or I take her. She has met with a local real estate woman to inquire about local homes. She and I are engaged and will probably move from this building. We have to drag her out just to get her into the sunshine for Vitamin D."

"The trip to the mall was for vitamins?" The Sergeant Major had a smile on his face.

Tank snorted, "Girls' Day Out. I imagine they shopped for women stuff and contraband food. Our mess here aligns with Special Forces menus. The ladies get a bit cranky unless they have a bit of contraband from time to time. Maybe, it's their female hormones."

Sergeant Major interviewed several other Rangemen including Lester, Bobby, Hal, and Hector. Of course, Hector stuck strictly to Spanish thinking he'd throw off the SGM. Perkins was fluent in Spanish. After interviewing Ram, actually viewing the ED's Ram removed from the Server Room, SGM Perkins returned to his office. He scanned the memory sticks for tracker information and then began going through Vassi's extensive research. At the very beginning of the files, was her note to him, "SGM, assume you are being monitored via listening and tracking devices, and mobile microphones. Your quarters have probably been compromised already or soon will be. Contact Hector Herrera at Rangeman to have your office and living quarters remotely checked frequently."

As he read through the information, he was flabbergasted which was pretty hard for a seasoned investigator. His job was to find the Colonel, but in reality, he realized she had to disappear and he now needed to carry the investigation forward. She had supplied contact information for those others helping with the investigation but, more importantly, those who needed to be avoided. The SGM paused with one of his contacts, POTUS. What the heck was he involved in?

SGM Perkins began assembling his force relying heavily on VC's suggestions. None were surprised to hear from him, they had received messages from her just the day before. Perhaps his biggest helpers were Hector and Silvio from Rangeman Miami. Both were trolling the Dark and Deep webs watching for tails. Several times they spotted them and alerted Perkins.

-0-

 **VC POV**

Ranger and I were hiding in a remote cabin somewhere in Pennsylvania. Food and supplies were delivered once a week by different individuals driving different vehicles. There was no continuity. The property was monitored for 2-legged trespassers, but only four-pawed and hoofed passed through.

Our days were spent working out. He did a variety of things from cardio, weights and yoga and Tai Chi. I stayed with my rehab, often getting help from Ranger.

"You are surprisingly strong for a…" he hesitated.

I waited for him to put his foot in his mouth. "You are dead meat if you say 'woman' or 'paraplegic', so you'd better find a third term."

He laughed, "You and Tank are well suited. How many years has it been since the Philippines?"

"Thirteen."

"He's carried a torch for you all these years, literally. I don't know how many candles he has lighted for you in churches around the world."

"Do you believe in love at first sight, Carlos?" I asked.

"Yeah. It happened to me with Stephanie, but I've been an ass."

"Most men are."

He chuckled. "Why didn't you give up your career to find him?"

"Get the dinosaur droppings out of your brain, Manoso. Why did you expect me to drop my career to find him? Don't tell me you are another troglodyte who believes all women are destined to be wives and mothers instead of having a career?

"To answer your question, I was so far down the rabbit hole I assumed I'd die down there. My rabbit hole began at 13 in Egypt. I was kidnapped and physically and sexually abused for months. My rescuers were Mossad agents. The Israelis put me back together physically and mentally. But I could only function within a controlled environment. I made it through West Point and was doing well in the Army until Billabong. Suddenly, I was back down the hole. The Nicaraguan jungle hell both of us experienced took any last shred of sanity and humanity from me. If it hadn't been for Pierre pulling me into the helicopter and keeping me from bailing out 1,000 feet above the jungle canopy, I would not have held on long enough to be put back together again. When I regained my mind, I began keeping an eye on Pierre hoping someday to thank him for saving my life. But once again fate intervened. I find him in Alamogordo only to go off on a suicide mission. I had already agreed to sacrifice my life to keep nuclear devices from being brought into and detonated in Israel and set off a worldwide holocaust. Imagine my horror to come back alive but also paralyzed. Have you ever tried to use willpower to kill yourself? I had no access to a weapon or narcotics. Who pulled me back again? Pierre. It is as if God wants Pierre and me together but I keep messing things up. This time, I'm paying attention, if we get through this crisis.

"What about you, Carlos? Who or what will it take for you to find happiness? You, Pierre, and I have been given the chance. Are you going to take it?"

He was quiet for a while and then began. "Before meeting Stephanie, I wasn't sure my soul could be cleaned. Since meeting her, I've had the same dream. I'm dark searching for light. Stephanie brings me light either as a candle, flashlight or fire torch, but I'm afraid to take it. If I take it, she becomes dark, perhaps permanently, so I back away. I watch you and Tank knowing both of you have been in the same darkness, but you both seem to have found the light. Maybe you are creating it together. I want it…." He stares off into space.

"You are still under government contract. Of course you are afraid you'll leave her a widow or bring her into your troubles. Now that your contract is nearly up, you need to rethink your commitment. You pledged your life to our country, but it doesn't mean you HAVE to lose it. You've served your time, done your job. Each year you stay on, you become a liability, taking a spot someone younger, better trained should be in. _Carpe P_ _osterum_ , Carlos. Seize the future."

"There are some roadblocks in my immediate future."

"I'm trying to remove some. You and Stephanie will have to work on the others. I hope you two get it together faster than Tank and I. Thirteen years….." I said, shaking my head.

Carlos and I had our computers with untraceable connections and names thanks to Hector, Silvio, and my brother. I received untraceable email messages just as I had sent Tank messages before. They were no more than 10 characters. I smiled as I read the first one: _POTUSrules_. Apparently, the President had found enough trustworthy people in Washington to begin action.

A week later, another message arrived, this time from my friends in the Middle East: _NewOwners._ That one floored me. While I was still in Israel, we looked at the numerous _Adelante_ holdings and discussed how ownership could be altered eliminating Arturo's heirs. If truly new owners were being created, it meant Aries' _Adelante_ holdings were suddenly changing ownership through nefarious means. We had discussed the legality of such moves. Older holdings, hopefully those not recently reviewed, would be the first targeted. Contracts were stolen and replacements installed, nationalizing businesses, dissolving them for cash upon the death of Aries Pretturo and proceeds going to charity. Not every business was being vandalized but enough so _Adelante_ would cease to exist. Fifty years of planning was being quickly and efficiently dismantled.

"Colonel, you are smiling," Ranger said as he set down a cup of coffee.

"I seriously wonder how much will reach the media."

"Not much. Arturo spent years keeping everything undercover. He managed to maintain Aries as a second personality. Enough deception should last even when this ends. Let's hope there isn't a Deep Throat," Ranger said.

"I don't see Sergeant Major Perkins or Pierre taking on the role."

"More likely, it would be one of his sons or daughters."

"I suspect names will be released, questions raised for many years to come."

"And probably a movie made. I wonder if they will determine a purpose for THIS madness," Ranger said as he shook his head. We both have seen too much madness in the world. Maybe this time we'll understand why."

"Who gets to portray Carlos Manoso? Maybe Tom Cruise?" I asked with a smile.

He snarled back, "Wrong age, wrong color, wrong accent, and wrong height. A better question is who would portray you?"

"There isn't a woman alive who could portray me," I said seriously.

He sat for a moment, "You are right. I'm still not sure what you are, but I'm glad you are on our side."

I didn't know if it was Silvio, my brother, George, or someone in another country sending me the news, but a week later, a third message made me smile again and yet I was also fearful: _bankheist_. _El Falcon's_ /Arturo's/Aries' _Adelante's_ money was gone or rapidly disappearing. The national business news only briefing mentioned trading in certain stocks and world commodities was suspended. The gold and silver markets were also unstable for a few days for unknown reasons. I wished I could watch Gregory Simpson panic. No doubt he was trying to figure out how funds were gone, wondering how someone gained access. Would he ever realize it was his own greed that left the proverbial backdoor open and allowing others to undermine the empire?

My hope was that Ariel and the other forensic accountants dispersed the money so widely it would never be found and used for evil purposes.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 **"Bankheist"**

Arturo Estripe sat in his home study. His aging body and, in particular, cardiac problems would force him to retire from the FBI in the near future. He had lasted this long because he was not a field agent. His superiors praised him for his attention to administrative duties while he tiptoed through the quagmire called Washington politics. If only his admirers knew how he was undermining the very fabric of the country.

Arturo took his brandy glass and filled it with Remy Martin Louis XIII Cognac. When guests asked how he could afford cognac costing $3500 a bottle, Arturo would explain his friend Aries Pretturo gave it to him for Christmas.

His plan was coming together. It had taken longer than he thought it would. There were always hiccups to his plan, the most recent in New Jersey with Lee Sebring. Did Jeanne Ellen tell the doctor the fetus' father was the mother's half-sibling? Did the doctor ask the paternal grandfather's name? Arturo wasn't sure and a break-in of the doctor's office wasn't definitive. Fortunately, he was able to use Juan Diego Escalante, one of his Colombian sons for more than intimidation in South America. Juan Diego was known by two names depending on what South American country he was working. He was _El Fantasma_ , the ghost, who could move through rural lands unseen, unheard, strike quietly. The police never found evidence to identify him. As _El Contador,_ he was the urban enforcer or assassin. He was the CEO of a large corporation and considered deadly in negotiations. Arturo chuckled to himself, "If people only knew just how deadly he could be."

Juan Diego bore an uncanny resemblance to Carlos Manoso, a frequent thorn in the side of _El Falcon's_ business enterprises in Central and South America for over a decade. Manoso and his team nearly stumbled into _El Falcon's_ dealings in Nicaragua. The covert team of five Army Rangers and a Nicaraguan Intelligence officer, Colonel Raul Compos-Meijia, set out to find who was trying to take control of gold exploration and development in the country. They were getting close to discovering the players but were betrayed. As a US government liaison to Nicaragua, Arturo had been advised of the investigation and immediately took steps to stop it. After all, he was the one heading up the takeover. Arturo ended the investigation by offering Compos-Meijia one million American dollars to betray the Americans. The five Americans were captured, but two escaped. Manoso and the other two were sent to a prison camp to be interrogated and executed. Arturo took another sip of his brandy and murmured, "If only that bastard prison officer hadn't enjoyed torture so much and just eliminated the Americans, then Manoso would be a forgotten name, among many."

It was Arturo's attention to detail that kept Manoso and the US government from learning more about _El Falcon_. Eventually, Arturo learned how to distract the US government from his operations and into his competition. So in a way, the US Government helped Arturo and _Adelante_. The problem was the accumulated information. Arturo's contact in the military had successfully cleansed _El Falcon_ and his associates' names from official records, but Manoso had his own records. Now, thanks to Lee and Jeanne Ellen, Arturo still had one more card up his sleeve to get into Rangeman's computer system. He could destroy the server thanks to explosive devices planted by his son, Gerald. Once Trenton was offline, access to Miami would be easy according to another son at NSA. All traces of _El Falcon_ would be eliminated.

When the brandy was nearly finished, he took the glass to his desk. He had a little work to do before retiring for the night. Arturo logged into the _Adelante_ accounts to check on a receipt of payment for arms to Africa. Four Islamic extremists groups were active in Africa: Al Qaeda, ISIS, Al Shabaab, and Boko Haram. _Adelante_ was more than happy to keep all groups well supplied in arms. The more unrest he could maintain elsewhere, the more the world's interests were fractured and would not notice the signs of, or concentrate on, the upcoming revolution in the US.

Arturo sat stunned. The African arms account was empty. He suspected that Carlton and Gregory Simpson were dipping into the _Adelante_ accounts, but up to now the losses had been negligible. Over the last few weeks, they had been growing, but now several million dollars were gone. He had heated words with the Senator from time to time about his son, Gregory. Carlton defended Gregory, citing increased business expenses for his staff. Now the whole account for "medical equipment" was missing. Perhaps it was already transferred to another account. He quickly logged into other accounts. They, too, were empty. He logged into his accounts in Hong Kong; he found all accounts were empty. Singapore was empty. Arturo's breathing became ragged. Bank of London, empty. Cayman Islands, Pretoria, Bogota, all empty. Arturo's chest began to constrict. This wasn't supposed to be possible. He had put in safety protocols to prevent this from happening. What had Gregory Simpson and his associates done? Did they change, remove or alter the protocols?

He lashed out, throwing the crystal brandy snifter against the nearby fireplace and very nearly sending his laptop computer after. Were his sons working with the Simpsons, attempting to take control early since Arturo's health diagnosis? Arturo reached for his phone. Who would he call? Who can he trust? He got to his feet and went across the room to the wall safe. He opened it and retrieved the codes to detonate the explosives at Rangeman. His movement would continue. Before he could retrieve anything his heart arrhythmia jumped into high gear and beat itself to death.

Eight hours later, his housekeeper found the dead man in his office/library, slumped to the floor by his desk. His brandy glass and laptop were completely smashed apparently in a fit of anger. That wasn't quite what happened. Soon after Arturo collapsed, the man watching through the window sent word access was clear. The security system was overridden, a team of professionals moved in. Arturo was carefully lifted returned to his desk but on the floor nearby. One of the men carrying him whispered to him, "Mossad thanks you for your generous monetary donations to the needy around the world. We are rounding up your bastard children and will dispose of them the way your father tried to dispose of us."

Arturo gasped and wailed his last sound. He knew he was defeated, just as his father had been defeated.

Care was taken to put Arturo exactly in the same position he assumed near the safe. Pathologists were getting good at detecting blood pooling within the body.

Documents in the open safe were removed and new ones added but only after first being well touched by the deceased man's hands. Cash and other personal items were left untouched. The safe was closed. The house was searched for more safes and they too were examined and documents and computer back up devices were removed, but jewelry, gold bars, and money were left behind. The laptop was stolen. Arturo's fingerprints were added to a new computer and then it too joined the brandy glass, smashed to bits. The hard drive was damaged beyond repair. As the team left, Hector Herrera, one of two Americans on the joint Mossad-American team, reset the security system. Once back into the aircraft returning to Trenton, the quiet IT specialist tilted his head to Lester Santos, the other American and whispered, " _Eso fue_ _justo_." (That was righteous.) Lester nodded. He appreciated VC's efforts to get a few Rangemen in on the raid with Mossad.

-0-

I would have missed it if it hadn't been for my mystery messenger: _ObitWPost._

At the bottom of the obituaries in the Washington Post was Arturo Estripe. I read in amazement: "Arturo Estripe, the long-time employee of the FBI was found dead in his office by his housekeeper. Preliminary information points to a cardiac incident. He began his career working as a liaison in several Central and South American countries before being assigned to the Washington office. Estripe never married. He had no family, devoting himself to his work and philanthropic activities." It was all I could do not to snort. Which work, FBI or _Adelante_? He had no family except for the several dozen children. What philanthropic work? Since when were arms dealing, human slavery, or world domination considered philanthropic?

I continued reading, "Estripe was recently diagnosed with a heart condition and was preparing to retire." Yeah, discovering his billions had disappeared probably broke his heart. His heirs would not be able to continue without money.

I wondered if the story was factual. I was expecting a burglary resulting in the death of the homeowner defending his property. This was so much cleaner and simpler.

I looked across the counter to the man whizzing a protein shake in the blender. "Ranger, did you sneak out two nights ago and go to Georgetown?"

He looked at me like I was nuts. He would have to have been Superman to fly to Washington and back. "Arturo Estripe died of a heart attack."

"What caliber?" he snorted.

"No, apparently it was natural."

"Happens," was his only comment. We looked at each other and mentally went through various ways to kill someone without leaving a trace. Forensics was making it harder and harder.

"It would be nice to know if anything was missing from his office files, for example, back up disks, or even his computer," Ranger mused.

I winked at him. I had a good idea who would be in charge of the B&Es and knew them to be thorough…all over the world.

Several days later, another message arrived: _WashPost_.

No buried story here, it was on the front page: Dual Murders of Prominent Family. "A family disagreement culminating in gunfire has resulted in the deaths of Former Senator Carlton Simpson and his son, Gregory Simpson. Gregory Simpson was dead at the scene; the Senator was pronounced DOA at Georgetown Hospital. The police confirmed weapons were found but declined to say more. Gregory Simpson was the owner and CEO of Paragon Financial Advisors in Washington, D.C." I skimmed the rest of the article including the Senator's lauded career in the US Senate until his unexpected resignation while I was recovering from Nicaragua. Rumors persisted that his resignation was part of a Pentagon scandal involving several Generals and Admirals.

Unlike Arturo's death due to emotional shock, the Simpsons had to be helped along. Before Arturo's "untimely" death, both the Senator and Gregory received untraceable messages with the same general content, "Trust no one, especially family," "Beware your employees are getting too nosey," and finally, the night of Arturo's death, "Bye-Bye Billions."

Thus, the usual level of paranoia associated with maintaining _Adelante's_ empire ratcheted up to stratospheric levels until suddenly the money was gone. The Senator blamed Gregory for stealing the money just after Arturo died. Perhaps Gregory had a hand in Arturo's death. The men fought for several hours before hand weapons were drawn.

I hoped Ari was right: Stop the money, compromise the _Adelante_ Empire and watch everything fall. Arturo and the Simpsons did not live to see the next assault on _Adelante_. The chaos caused by Arturo's sudden death, along with the Simpsons, sent the high-ranking offspring into a panic. Unlike the lesser children such as Lee Sebring, the high-ranking ones were to have been the country's new leaders. In their confusion, they blamed one another and did not see their own end coming.

 _1tiergone_ was the message that appeared about a week later. There was no flash in the news or web other than the loss of a White House adviser to the President killed in a car accident, alcohol was suspected. Was this the same man who slipped the listening device into the POTUS' pocket in Israel? Was it truly an accident, suicide or something else?

The message did say ' _1tiergone'_ so perhaps others were being discovered and...what? Dismissed, eliminated, arrested? It wasn't for me to know. All I could surmise was Estripe's oldest and highest-placed sons and daughters were being removed from positions of power. With their identities known, no government position, no money, and perhaps in jail or out on bail, they were helpless to carry on.

Ranger and I were still in hiding. Aside from eating and sleeping, all we had was reading, working out and long conversations. He was finally at ease with me and me with him. In one conversation, he admitted originally he considered me a threat to his command. Nearly falling off the chair in laughter, I asked him how.

"You outrank me."

"Are you kidding me, Manoso? You were in active service for six years. You've picked up a grade or two with your Black Ops but you were not leading battalions."

"What about you, Colonel?" he shot back. "What have you done to earn your rank?"

"I earned my silver eagle within command Intel United States Army Intelligence and Security Command (INSCOM). Hell, I might not even get a pension as I'll be kicked out shortly. So what the heck does it matter? I'm not after your job or your company. I might be looking for a job in the future. Think Rangeman has a use for a former Army Intelligence officer?"

"I suspect a dozen different companies will want you," he said offhandedly.

"Pierre and I have other plans. He wants to stay with Rangeman, not move to Washington. Maybe I'll take up knitting."

"You and Tank thinking about a family?"

"Yeah, right. What is the youngest age for a Colonel? Forty, forty-two, right? I was promoted just before my trip to Syria. I'm pushing forty-two and approaching the end of the reproduction line. Bearing a child now has too many risks. My internal injuries may have caused damage, the chemicals injected into me might be toxic to reproduction. I've never had marriage and babies anywhere on my radar. My life has been staying alive from one day to the next. Pierre has changed my outlook. Right now, let's finish this mission and then hash out our lives."

I waited a bit and continued, "We've talked about it before, but do your goals include Stephanie?"

"You were right, I haven't re-signed my contract. I'm getting too old for field work, but I still have enemies."

"And I don't? How many Arturo Estripe offspring are there in this country plus outside the country? If word ever gets out about my involvement, I'll be going around with a target on my back. It's not the first time, which is why I wanted to stay in service. Rank has some protection. Now I have nothing. I want peace for as long as I can get it. If it is a month, a year, ten years, fine. I should be dead many times over, but I'm here maybe for a reason. Maybe that reason is Pierre."

I continued, "You and Stephanie work well together. Make it a closer deal. Don't put off until tomorrow because tomorrow is not guaranteed. When your contract ends, live again. Live each day fully. Like the Nike ads: "Just Do It."

He accepted my bit of advice, which looking back was like two blind people comparing their views of the world…which neither could see. He finally asked, "What's next on this adventure?"

I told him the rest of the plan and his shoulders sagged, "I wish that wasn't necessary."

"It's the only way to keep my involvement obscure."

"What about the moles at Rangeman? You said you know who they are."

"Pierre is keeping an eye on Gerald and Thomas. I need them for an alibi. There are still a lot of Arturo's family and friends out there."

"I'm not surprised about Gerald. He's smart, but Thomas is a good soldier, follows direction and is competent."

Finally, the dreaded message came: _Beatings_.

"Ranger, it's time for the bad part."

He looked pained. "Do we really need to do this?" We had talked about my appearance when I was "found." It had to appear I wasn't vacationing at Club Med but rather held and interrogated for several weeks.

"Yeah, I'll have to start wearing my original clothes. They need to be stinky and bloody, ripe for delivery."

He nodded. He had been on missions where he hadn't changed clothes in weeks or months. "If you get too gamey I'll put a garbage bag over you," he smiled. His smile was half-assed at best.

"You aren't exactly ready for Gentleman's Quarterly right now either." He had let his facial hair grow. At the oceanside café, the beard was trimmed. He hadn't bothered since, nor had his hair been trimmed. He looked like he had been on a mission for weeks. Actually, he had.

"Tank will kill me," he sighed.

"And the others, but it needs to be done over the next couple of weeks for various injury stages. I can spar with you to start."

"Yeah, right."

"Don't underestimate us paraplegics. We can be sneaky. OK, how would you interrogate someone?"

"Face and body shots, but not to a woman."

"Sexist pussy, afraid to hit a girl."

He hauled back with a right cross. I saw stars. "I know your button."

"Only works once."

The next day I was on the floor working on several exercises when he walked by. I reached out, tripped him pulled myself onto his back with his right arm trapped in a painful handhold. He responded quickly and hard. I couldn't pull a reverse on him as I had only minimal leg action. I held his beard but slammed his head against the floor. He was stunned. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so real, I'm not able to move as well as before."

"Where'd you learn that?" he asked.

"Pierre, foreplay."

He laughed and I launched another attack. I used my elbow and so did he. I gave him a black eye, he split my brow. When we wound down, I knew I'd have some good rib bruises and hoped I left him with body bruises.

"You forgot about Billabong. I cleaned your clock back then."

"Yeah, I thought you got lucky. You know your stuff. When you get your legs back I'm going to have to up my game." He stood, "Need help back into the chair?"

Chair! What was I going to do with the chair? Would kidnappers remove me from the chair to beat me or hit me while I was in the chair? "When we get to the end, the chair will need a beat down too."

He looked confused.

"The chair will have to appear as if my kidnappers threw me down the steps while I was in the chair."

"Ah…"

"No, I'm not looking for a fun ride, just bend a wheel or spoke, tear some fabric. I've already bled a bit on it."

I hadn't been eating much since confinement began, explaining to Ranger a captive isn't fed well. He understood having been a captive in his career. "At least you won't get dysentery." When the time came for the bruises, I quit eating entirely.

"You are starving yourself, unwashed, bruises, what else?"

"Broken bones."

"No, I'm not comfortable with that," he said shaking his head and backing up.

"Tuff shit, mister. A rib or two and nose, can you do that, pussy?"

He laughed, "Pussy won't work a second time. When?"

"What can we do now that won't be too limiting but show up on X-rays later?" Moments later my left clavicle was cracked.

To create abrasions on my wrists like I had been tied, I abraded the skin around my wrists until they bled. He watched with pain in his eyes.

Two weeks later the message made me cringe: _5days_.

"OK, Carlos, five days more. It's time to up the abuse."

"Damn," he muttered. After one particularly brutal "interrogation", he stopped and shook his head, "You can take a punch."

I chuckled, "Training officer at West Point: relax and take a punch."

The same men who dropped me off arrived with a new van. I was a mess, but not quite messy enough. Final sites to bruise were selected. Instead of relaxing and absorbing the assaults, I clenched adding to the bruising. I moaned after one particular blow, "Trust me, don't ever clench. Stay loose and let the body absorb." As I was about to leave, I pointed to my nose, "One last time for the cameras."

We had agreed to save the nose for last for yet another blood splatter. "Don't worry, soldier, I'll respect you tomorrow," I joked and I shut my eyes because I didn't want to see the pain in his eyes. I hoped the damage was repairable.

My two drivers stood off, knowing not to interfere. The younger one looked at Ranger and me with confusion in his eyes. The older one stood quietly and observed.

After it was done, Ranger watched me carefully for a moment and muttered, "I'm sorry I had to do that."

"It had to be done." My two "kidnappers" and I left. No words were spoken but I was wrapped in a plastic bag to contain the odor. I was offending myself through a broken nose.

This was a mission and we each had a job to do. Mine was to play dumb for whatever police agency would be involved. I needed a solid alibi while the destruction of Arturo's empire continued.

The ride to the new location was none too comfortable; broken nose, cracked, hopefully not broken, ribs, healing clavicle, bruises, abrasions, and clothes that would make a skunk run. The van stopped and I was pushed into a large enclosure without a roof. Perhaps it was a long-abandoned factory. I saw the lights flash, lightning was moving towards us.

The plastic bag was removed. I was sweaty adding to the aromatics.

"Gentlemen, thank you. After you dump me, take the chair and toss it aside. Twenty feet should be enough. Then you are dismissed."

Neither was surprised with the "dismissed" but nodded appropriately. "Colonel," the older one said as he left.

I was left alone, mostly on my right side, my hands tied together in front of me. The rains came not long after. Darn it was cold. I was past well drenched and no doubt hypothermic when I heard sounds, like scratching. I couldn't place them but then I wasn't fully conscious.

"What the hell? Is she alive?"

I felt a hand on my neck. I moved my head a bit. I forced my eyes open and to be greeted to sunlight shining off the puddles on the broken concrete floor. I was soaked to the skin from the rain and was still in a puddle. This was perfect as my clothes would bear no ocean salt though I was going to mislead the investigation away from Pennsylvania to the Eastern Shore. Also hopefully any trace of Manoso and others had been washed off.

Three teenagers gawked at me. One's hair was spiked upright, tipped in orange. His ears had several rings each. Another young man, younger, wasn't studded but his clothes were colorfully clashing. Another stood off to the side and said, "I'll call 911." A skate board was tipped up on its end. That was the sound. I was shivering so one boy took his jacket off and put it over my shoulders.

I mumbled, "I'm bloody."

He looked at me carefully, "I don't see any fresh blood."

"What's your name?" Mr. Earrings asked.

"Colonel...VC."

"You mean like Army colonel?"

I nodded through chattering teeth. I heard Mr. Telephone say something like, "She's a Colonel in the Army."

"Thank you for saving my life," I mumbled. I suspected my drivers were not far away and would have intervened if I wasn't found quickly. Still these young men deserved my gratitude.

Things got crazy. All manner of sirens were heard: police, firetruck and EMTs. It was all I could do to stay awake. I hoped they brought better and bigger blankets. This wasn't adrenaline burn-off, this was butt-freezing cold.

As one EMT cut off the cable ties, he kindly asked, "What is your name?"

"Colonel VC, US Army."

"VC?"

"Vassiliki Christofondolous."

The EMT chuckled, "My grandmother was a Vassi, I can spell most of your name."

"Are you in pain?" the other EMT asked.

I mumbled, "Too cold to hurt."

I felt some touching down below and figured they were wondering why my legs weren't moving.

"We need a backboard," said one EMT.

"I'm a paraplegic."

"Where's your chair?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"I see it over there," a fireman added.

"How long have you been here?" somebody asked. There were too many voices. I knew I was getting ready to pass out.

"Before the rain..." I answered, congratulating the team that planned this had the timing down to where I wasn't abandoned too long.

"We are taking you to a Trauma One hospital in Wilkes Barre, Colonel."

I guess Ranger was efficient. From then on, I remember little else until I was rolled into a nice warm building and warm blankets were put over me. Once at Wilkes Barre, I was X-rayed, CT scanned. Police asked questions, then someone slipped me a mickey because when I woke up the police were gone except for SGM Perkins representing Army CID, two local detectives, and an FBI agent.

"Colonel...Christof..." began the FBI agent. I calculated his age to be in his 50s, probably nearing retirement, chances were low he's one of Arturo's spawn. Still, I had to play it low key. I was hoping SGM Perkins had cleared him and if not, would run interference.

"Call me VC."

"Yes, ma'am."

The investigators wanted to know about the kidnapping. I remained mostly mute, "They wanted to know where Carlos Manoso is."

"Why?"

"He was their sacrificial lamb, but escaped."

"Why did they think you knew anything?"

"Mr. Manoso is part owner of a building in which I'm receiving rehab treatment. I've met him a few times."

"Why you?"

"Probably because I'm the only one in the building who doesn't work for him. I have no loyalties."

"Have you seen Mr. Manoso recently?"

I nodded no, "Not for some time." 'Some' being relative, I thought.

"Who were they?"

"No clue."

"Where did they take you?"

"From the Quaker Bridge mall I was blindfolded. I suspect we traveled for 40 minutes, maybe more."

"Describe where you were held."

"One room, maybe 8'x8', one high window for sunlight but I couldn't see anything, even if I could stand. The one door was metal; not new and not rusty which was surprising."

"Why?"

"I thought heard boat horns."

"Foghorns?"

"No, just tooting like signaling to one another. If I was close to the ocean, the metal door should have shown rust."

"Could they have been train whistles, like in a mine?"

"Maybe. I wish I had heard more."

"What else?"

"Mattress on the floor, slop bucket."

"How many people were involved?"

"Two guards, rotated, one interrogator. Mean SOB. He liked to hit."

"You seem pretty sure of your facts."

"What, that he liked to hit? I think that's obvious," I snapped as I winced.

"No, about your facts."

"Sir, I'm a trained observer and frankly there wasn't anything else to occupy my mind except how I was going to use the slop bucket...and wishing the blanket was thicker and cleaner."

"You don't seem too upset."

"You are wrong detective, I am upset. Upset because I'm in another fucking hospital, pardon my language. The Army unofficial motto is "Deal with it." From early training we are trained to endure. My head is killing me, I can't breathe through my nose. Deep breathing is out of the question. Nothing appears permanent. I know permanent injuries. I sit in a wheelchair."

SGM Perkins asked some useless but important sounding questions. I tried to answer but didn't have to fake being tired.

With the doctors and police, I couldn't talk with the SGM. Plus I needed sleep. After a quick check by the trauma doctor, I was sent to a room. Bobby, Pierre, and SGM Perkins appeared when I woke up.

I was confused. What were they doing in Pennsylvania? "Where?" I could only mutter.

"You are in Newark VA. SGM Perkins rode in with you. The Lawrenceville police wanted you in Trenton. I overrode their orders," Bobby answered.

"I was hoping that was stage makeup," Pierre said referring to my bruises.

"Remind me never to piss him off," referring to Ranger. Looking at the CID, "Sergeant Major, thank you for riding with me here. Your file is impressive."

"Ma'am, I won't ask how you've read my file since I've seen your other research. I feel like I've been used as a pawn."

"Hardly a pawn, Sergeant Major. You've had my flank. Sit Rep?"

"FBI is in turmoil. Actually, all of Washington is in turmoil. A lot of big names are caught in the spotlight."

"The agent in Wilkes Barre..."

SGM Perkins smiled, "Hector said he had 2 parents, 4 grandparents, average bank account, close to retirement."

"How is the family tree pruning going?" I asked SGM Perkins.

"I don't know if all members will be found in this country. We can't touch foreign countries other than to identify them and keep watch."

"But without funds…" I started.

"We hope enough have been eliminated but we won't know for a while."

I was glad someone else felt my same uncertainty.

#


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 **"I don't know if all members will be found in this country."**

After a few weeks to let the bruises and few fractures to firm up, I was allowed to start swimming for exercise. Ranger had ended up breaking a few of my ribs in addition to the clavicle. The water was kinder to my body than the hard gym floor.

Since Rangeman did not have a pool, a municipal pool was rented by the hour. It was expensive to rent for two people, but it was private. I was uncomfortable getting in and out of a chair in a public location as well as having to share a swim lane with someone else. Without working legs to keep me straight, I tended to wobble in the lane.

Stephanie was my companion, driver, and since passing a lifesaver course, my guard, saving the cost of hiring a lifeguard. She would have preferred we swim in the ocean.

"Steph, how would I get into the ocean? Getting across the sand would be impossible. Were you planning to roll me down the pier and tip me in? These more northern Atlantic waters are cold!"

"We could go to Florida."

"I'm not feeding my toes to the sharks."

"But think of the tans!"

"Look at me. I come with a tan built in. Anyway, sunbathing is bad on your lily-white skin. It will cause all sorts of ugly keratosis skin bumps, wrinkles and worse within the next fifteen years. I'm willing to bet your grandmother spent her youth at the shore baking her Hungarian skin. You don't want to be wrinkled like her."

"Spoilsport," she said as she stuck her tongue out at me.

"Keep it up lady, and I'll kick you aside and tag the Rangemen who were SEALS or Para Rescues to join me here. I never tire of the flat abs and muscular shoulders and legs."

"You look?"

"I'm not dead. It's like Chippendales at the Rangeman gym. Guys in service are generally more slender. It's a freaking skin show."

She giggled, "I thought I was the only one who looked."

"Let's see, I count you, me, Ella, Hector and a few others who conceal their feelings."

"Who?" she gasped.

"Not for me to say. Stephanie, I really appreciate you volunteering to be my lifeguard. I know it is pool policy to have someone on the deck at all time when someone is in the pool area, but you could be working or shopping."

"Yeah, right. If I show up at Quaker Bridge, they will assume more disasters will follow."

Laughing I answered, "We really did upset a few people there didn't we? It was all planned. Pierre said you were great in delaying the investigation giving me time to vamoose."

"I didn't expect you'd be so beaten up, though. I don't understand why that had to happen."

"If I came back squeaky clean with a smile on my face, people would be suspicious. We are trying to keep the enemy confused and not trusting one another. Who kidnapped me, what scion of the gang is working on their own?"

"Tank said Ranger did all the damage."

"It was a diversion, much like what you do with FTAs. It was hard getting him to hit me in the beginning. He understood the necessity and actually went light on me. I got my own shots on him too to encourage him along," I said with a chuckle.

"But your nose was broken."

"Wasn't the first time it has been broken, but hopefully the last." I paused and asked, "Everything square between you and Pierre."

She flashed her hand, "Pfft, we were both playing our parts. I will admit he's pretty intimidating when he's mad at you. I almost wet my pants a few times."

The pool manager waved us through with a smile. His pool revenue was in the black thanks to our three- times-a-week rental. The pool was closed now. Noon swim was over and the high school teams wouldn't arrive for another three hours.

"Let's see, this is the day I sit on the side, not swim with you until Ram arrives," Stephanie said.

'Right, we always need someone on the deck. He'll be along in about 30 minutes then you can get in the water."

We went over to the bench to drop our bags when the pool door opened and two men came in. They were not dressed in swimsuits or even casual dress; they were in suits, Oxford shoes, and brandishing badges. I didn't recognize the badges.

"I take it you are not pool inspectors," I said.

Neither smiled.

"Since I don't recognize the badges, I'm frankly confused. Who are you?"

"You are to come with us."

I noticed Stephanie pressed the emergency button on her watch. Good girl. She quickly surmised this was likely a "situation."

My cell phone was still in my jacket's upper pocket. I pushed the button for Rangeman on my phone knowing the conversation would be recorded, hopefully clearly. "Excuse me? Sirs, you have not explained why you have barged into this pool area and flashed your badges. Nor have either of you identified yourself by name or agency. Now you insist we come with you. This is so far beyond procedure I have to seriously question you being on legitimate government business." I had to be verbose to stall as long as possible for the "cavalry" from Rangeman to arrive.

"We want you for questioning."

"You want us for questioning, but you haven't told us why. Gentlemen neither of you have given me your name, your affiliation, produced a warrant or any bit of legality. Until you do so, we are not going anywhere."

"We showed you our badges," one said.

"For all I know for $50 you had them made up with a fake agency name. You didn't give me time to read them and confirm your position with your employers."

"She doesn't have to come," one said referring to Stephanie.

"You don't want my driver? Now I'm confused. Ma'am, you can go while I speak to these men."

Stephanie blink confusedly and then started to leave. The other man, not the one who said Steph could leave countered my order, "No, she'd better stay."

"Gentlemen, please get your act together. In the meantime, I am waiting for the warrant."

"We don't need a warrant for questioning," the one who wouldn't let Stephanie leave said as he withdrew his gun from a shoulder holster. He was correct. Questioning was voluntary. If the court demanded information to be given, a subpoena was required. However we were not required to voluntarily go with them. Drawing the weapon eliminated their voluntary request.

"Sir," I continued, "Drawing your Sig Sauer P938 does not give you the legal bearing to drag us from this pool. As you said, questioning is voluntary, but not when we are coerced at gunpoint. Ask your questions here or get a warrant to take me someplace else." I was trying to be detailed and impress on Rangeman this was a serious situation. "We have the right to have attorneys present and once again, you have not given us your names or affiliations, but flashed your hand weapon. For all I know those are fake badges, but I suspect your Sig is real."

"You will ruin everything," said the second one who had yet to draw a weapon. He was almost whiney.

"What will I ruin?"

"You are one nosey bitch," said the one with the gun.

I noticed Stephanie was inching her way towards to the door. With luck she will escape. At least she knew better than to go after two men, one of whom was armed.

"Yes, I am a bitch. I've worn that moniker for some time and, I hope, with distinction. Why is an accomplished woman a threat to men so they resort to name calling? Women don't go around throwing out the term dickhead for accomplished men, just for incompetents. But back to your comment, what did I ruin?" I knew what they were upset about, but for the sake of time, I had to play dumb.

"You are getting in the way of our father's plans," he said.

"Shut up, Hugh," snapped the first man, the one with a gun and obviously leader of this little party.

"Ah, now I understand. You must be two of Arturo Estripe's sons. Or should I also say Aries Pretturo's sons?" I didn't dare call them bastards as one was holding a gun. Plus, I now had a name for the second man, Hugh Sanchez. The first one would remain Mr. Gun.

"You know about him?" the second man, Hugh, acted surprised.

"Him who? Arturo or Aries?"

"Aries."

"For all your father's planning, he really lacked an imagination. He was a good organizer, but creative? No. I take it his favorite board game was Scrabble, Jumble, and One World Domination? Was his favorite fictional reading Mein Kampf?"

The man with the gun flinched with the "Mein Kampf" reference. "We were bred, born, and groomed for our jobs. Each had a part play. We were going to run this country the way it should be run, correcting the problems and finally bringing law and order to society."

"I'm sorry, Hugh, but your being bred for a purpose is nothing new. In fact, there was a Eugenic movement in the US in the early 20th century. California began sterilizing undesirables so they would not reproduce. Adolf Hitler grasped the idea as an excuse to begin sterilizing then executing his own undesirables." Oh hell, did I surmise correctly that _El Falcon_ was the son of an escaped Nazi? "Thanks to Hitler's horrors, Eugenics in this country died a quiet death after WWII.

"So you super-people were going to trot out again the same drivel the so-called 'modern thinkers' were expounding even before that bastard Austrian paper-hanger purposed it and what today's socialist agendas are pushing. Socialism didn't work before and is not working in other countries now. Venezuela used to be a prosperous country under capitalism but then it got all squishy feely and resorted to socialism and is now a poverty country. Well the wealthy are still wealthy, but the poor are far poorer. Why do you want it here?"

Did Arturo's social experiment begin in Venezuela? That was something to research if I survived this little party.

"Now, I admit, Hugh, we do need to pay more attention to enforcing existing laws. We don't need more and more laws curtailing people's liberty, we just need to follow what we have. But the socialists say it isn't fair yet propose new laws. If we aren't passing new laws, we could send Congress back home. Sometimes I think we need to scrap everything and go back to the original Constitution and reignite what made this country unique. Minds greater than ours drafted the Constitution. They believed in the intelligence of the people. Not in book learning, but in common and moral sense. The very thing they railed against was elitists running the country. Unfortunately, that's what we have today, elitists such as the wealthy, career politicians, and now some super-breed people."

"But we would solve the problems. Politicians just make a mess of things. There is a better chance of seeing a camel pass through the eye of a needle than of seeing a really great man 'discovered' through an election."

I gasped. "Where did you hear that, Hugh?"

"From my father. I think it is from the New Testament."

"Obviously you missed Sunday school. The 'camel and needle eye' metaphor is far older than the chapter in Matthew. It goes back to the Babylon Jews era. Adolf Hitler bastardized the saying to fit his political rhetoric. The camel passing through the eye of a needle doesn't refer to sewing, but the worthiness of a man's heart. Your quote is from Mein Kampf. Was that your Bible or Talmud, Hugh? Are you all in favor of One World Order, one group of elitists who believe they are smarter than the rest of us and need to tell us what to do to save the world, while they enrich their power and pocketbooks? These One World Government or One World Order elitists want to turn us into mind-numbed beings who no longer think for ourselves, but instead make our lives according to their ideals. There is a name for this hell, it is socialism or communism, or if you need an 'ocracy' suffix, try mediocracy. Have you ever read Ayn Rand?

Stephanie was starting to open the door when Mr. Gun saw her. "You, driver, sit down and put your hands on your head."

Drat, there goes her chance of escaping. If only she had dashed out the door, the chances of being fatally shot were low. Accuracy during emotional times falls off after six feet.

Stephanie sat down and put her hands up.

"But the troublemakers would be eliminated," Hugh shot back.

"Who are the troublemakers? Would you eliminate the free thinkers who advance society through art, literature, music, social change? Or are you going to eliminate those who don't think exactly like you? Where are you going to put all the miscreants? There are not enough jails or prisons. We don't have a Devil's Island to which we can send them. Maybe we should just kill them or send them to the ovens.

"I bet dear Daddy has said something along the lines of: 'If something is in danger of being oppressed or even exterminated, the question of legality is only of secondary importance. The established power may, in such a case, employ only those means which are recognized as 'legal'."

"Yeah, so?"

Dang I just quote more Mein Kampf and he didn't flinch. Hugh was whiney again, "Our problem is inequality. We have people who are desperately in need and, at the other end, wealthy beyond imagination."

Darn it, he has swallowed the Kool-Aid. "Like Aries, your father."

He ignored me. "We need to even the playing field, we need to make it fair."

I groaned, "Hugh, there's another over-used saying. It sounds so politically correct but it is impossible. The minute you try to level the playing field, innovation, inspiration, and people trying to better themselves stops. Why try to excel when there is no reward? There will always be the poor either through circumstances or laziness. We can help those who truly need help. What we lack are the balls to say to the others, 'get off your ass.' Some bleeding heart somewhere would say we are being mean. Which is worse: getting people a job where they can improve themselves or making them and their children slaves to the government through welfare, generation after generation? Hugh, if we took all the wealth in this country and redistributed it, the government's entitlements would blow through it all in short order...weeks, months. Take your father's billions, Bill Gates' billions, and Jeff Bezos' billions and you'd pay for less than a quarter of the welfare expenditure for one year. That doesn't include other social costs such as Social Security, Medicare and so on. Your 'stealing from the rich' would barely make a ripple. In fact, it would make things a whole lot worse. Where would the capital for new ideas and jobs come from after you've drained the thinkers and doers? The government? Heck, the government only knows how to spend money, not create more, except to print more which devalues everything."

"We are going to make things right," Hugh said out of frustration.

"Right? Who's right? Hitler thought he was right. Mussolini thought he was right. Lenin and Stalin had their own ideas. Pol Pot, Kim Il Sung, Mao Zedong, need I go on? In this country, we the people tell the government what to do, or used to until pussies like you came along and think the government can solve all the problems with new regulations to quell discontent. Instead, we should be looking deeper, determining what causes the unrest, not resorting to becoming a police state with more and more laws and restrictions. Take elections. People believe we have a democracy. It isn't, thank heavens. A pure democracy is nothing more than mob rule. Those incredible minds centuries ago foresaw exactly what is happening now. One hair-brained idea could catch fire and destroy the country. That's why we have a representative government: to keep the masses from going temporarily nuts.

"Hugh, was your father the son of a Nazi, a high-ranking official who escaped to Argentina and then came to the US? Was it his intention to mind-control his son into exacting revenge on the US for his defeat?" I had nothing to back up my assertion except the need to keep their attention on me and not what they originally came to do, take me to dear Daddy or a higher-ranking son.

"Money, power, and revenge are more often the driving forces, not for the good of the people. That's the same pile of horse poop used by despots around the world for seeking self-glory: We are doing it for the people or for the children. All the while, those spouting the platitudes are lining their pockets with money. Do you see any one of these reformers living like the people? Isn't it amazing even in this country, each term a congressman gets re-elected, he or she gets richer and richer while earning a measly $174,000 a year in one of the nation's most expensive cities to live in? You know one way they get rich? Taking bribes from people like your father. He realized he couldn't guarantee his offspring would get into elected or governing positions so he bought those who were already there. He's done well over the years: one former President, two presidential aides, two Supreme Court justices, several congressmen and senators, and a cabinet member. He couldn't wait for his children to move up in the ranks because very few have the brains to rise above a GS 13. Arturo/Aries was the brains. Too bad it didn't transfer to the next generation.

"Your father ran one of the biggest drugs, slaves and contraband businesses in the world, while camouflaging himself behind his position as a humble government worker with the FBI. He hid behind the name _El Falcon_ or the do-gooder, Aries Pretturo, the reclusive multi-billionaire nobody has seen. Arturo pulled a modern day Howard Hughes."

"No, he is a great man."

"...who fathered nearly four dozen children in this country alone, heaven knows how many in South and Central America. He must have had women every hour. He wasn't great. He was a sex addict or sexual abuser. Ever wonder how he supported 47 children that I know about on a government salary? You were raised with drug money, slave money. He ran illegal arms to a dozen different countries, was paid bribes from countries and corporations to curry his favor. He paid each one of his women $40,000 a year in cash. That's just under $20 million dollars a year. Some lived off that money, some have married and enjoyed the bonus. Other women lived off welfare, often using their stipend on drugs. So, are you a welfare baby Hugh or do you have a stepfather?"

Anger flashed in Mr. Gun's eyes, but Hugh showed confusion. I continued wondering how long Rangeman would take to arrive. I was talking in circles, repeating myself in creative ways.

Hugh seemed overwhelmed, "Forty-seven…."

"All this baloney about cleaning up society is a joke. Arturo used his knowledge of government law enforcement and imported more than 60,000 illegals that we know about, many of whom run his drugs into this country without disturbing the Immigrations' watchdogs. His drug business alone was greater than the GDP of several European countries. All his money was kept in accounts all over the world. He was a major supplier of arms to insurgents on four continents to keep countries in turmoil. His investments in gemstones, minerals, petroleum, narcotics, real estate and heaven knows what else assured his sons and friends remained in power in several countries. What he was good at was keeping all this well-hidden, living a simple life while his children were shuffled into powerful positions. You were told from an early age what to be. Did you ever dare go against his wishes?"

They remained silent.

"Your own siblings were murdered because they dared to go against his madness."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mr. Gun sputtered.

"James Santiago was a police chief slain mysteriously while visiting New York City. It was ruled 'random mugging', but the investigating officers knew better but were forced to sign off on it from higher-ups. Santiago confronted his father regarding drug imports. Cheryl Cofferdam, assistant district attorney, mysteriously killed before she could prosecute a sex-slave ringleader who turned out to be her's and your unknown brother. The man was released on bond and disappeared back to Venezuela where he is hidden by another family member. Harriet Heffernan, the newspaper columnist who started investigating Aries Pretturo? She died from a 'fall' off a balcony. Adolfo Salvador , Brazilian gem merchant, thought he was entitled to his share of his father's gems. Martin Barco tried to take some of dear Daddy's drug business away. You are probably familiar with Jeanne Ellen Burrows, but not the child in her womb."

"She was killed by Carlos Manoso."

"No, he had a solid alibi, even captured on video. She was killed because she fell in love with a man who turned out to be her half-sibling and got pregnant by him. The murderer was one of your half-siblings from Colombia, an assassin who bears a resemblance to Manoso."

"Where's the proof?"

"Juan Diego Escalante / _El Fantasma_ is sitting in a prison...somewhere you, and your family, cannot find him. You say I ruined everything. I'm just one person. There are many now involved in several countries, not just here. Your father's plan, _El Falcon's_ plan, is dead."

"No, the plan continues, but you are the one who will soon be dead. He ordered your killing. You are obstructing our progress. We are so close to beginning the take-over." With that, the second one, Hugh, pulled his weapon from his back holster, though he looked hesitant.

"You say your father ordered my death. Did you talk to him personally?"

"No."

"I guess you haven't been listening to me. I keep referring to him in the past tense because he is dead, dead, dead. You don't read the Washington Post, do you?"

Both looked confused.

"He died several weeks ago."

"Liar!" Mr. Gun exploded.

"I'll wait patiently while you call up the obit on your cell phone. Or do you want me to try to quote the Washington Post? 'Arturo Estripe, a long-time employee of the FBI died apparently of natural causes. He was not married nor had any children.' What a joke. I wonder if his death was natural or did another of your siblings rebel? Since the old man is dead, who told you to kill me?"

"Steven..."

"Shut up, Hugh!"

"Steven Hampton, yes, we suspected he'd be the one to take over. Killing me is useless. I just lifted the lid to Arturo's stench. Many others are now digging through the filth."

"His work will continue."

"How? Your investment man, Gregory Simpson was skimming money from _Adelante_ and numerous bank accounts throughout the world. To do so, he had to leave a backdoor for the transfers. A team of highly trained forensic accountants used the open door and emptied the banks. The coffers are dry. The banks in the Caymans, Hong Kong, and London, among others, had to scramble to cover their losses."

"The money is gone? All of it?" Mr. Gun gasped.

"Bye-bye trillions, not billions, but trillions. Yep, Arturo's and his alter-ego, Aries', money is gone, dispersed throughout the world to charitable organizations. You can at least be proud. Arturo Estripe, and Aries Pretturo were very philanthropic at the end. Before you think about going after the Simpsons, they killed each other probably arguing who was to blame for _Adelante's_ demise. Each had multi-million dollar accounts. I stress 'had'. They were emptied as well."

"But there are other sources…"

"In mines, coca fields, oil production in the US, Russia and Turmenistan? Well, you see, there have been many title changes over the last few weeks. _Adelante_ appeared to have been rearranging its assets, but before it was complete, the chairman, Aries, died. I don't know if Aries was losing his mind or one of your siblings is trying to run off with the larger holdings, or numerous countries decided to nationalize before Arturo/Aries died. Arturo's health was poor. No doubt someone, or many, thought it was time to disperse the holdings before the whole mess was caught in probate. Where would the assets go upon his death?" I had no idea how the assets were being disposed, but this sounded good.

These two were too low down on the family hierarchy to know how _Adelante_ would continue. Actually it was well spelled out. I might as well hit them with more information. "The ultimate idiocy was thanks to your father, not only are birth records being scoured, but also DNA samples taken by the thousands. Everyone with high and moderate security clearances and an 'unknown' on their birth certificate will be tested. Have you spit in the test tube yet?

"Once the Justice Department is cleaned of Estripe contaminates, it will be prosecuting people for years those who have taken bribes or actively worked on the master plan. Names are known, your father was an excellent record keeper. The Guantanamo closing ordered by Obama will have to be reversed just for those who took his bribes. I don't know what will happen to his lower-level offspring like you two."

I hoped every last word I uttered was being recorded at Rangeman and they were rushing to the rescue...soon! Maybe they heard nothing after all. I was out of verbiage. Mr. Gun had run out of patience, not that he was overflowing from the start. He waved his handgun at Stephanie, indicating that she needed to stand. "Move away from your employer." Reaching behind his back, he produced a pair of handcuffs.

"Wow, are you some type of cop with your own handcuffs, weapon, and badge? I never did get your name. Your brother here is Hugh Sanchez, there is only one Hugh in the family album."

"My name doesn't matter", he said as he slipped one handcuff over my left wrist. "Now I think the two of you need to be a little closer. Yanking Stephanie, he grabbed her right wrist, passed the handcuff under the wheelchair's armrest and attached the cuff.

He wanted us in a situation from which we could not escape. The obvious answer lay in front of us: the pool. I was mentally calculating the buoyancy of the chair, Stephanie, and myself. It wasn't looking good for a quick sinking. Apparently, Mr. Gun was calculating too. "We need more weight," he said.

Looking around, all Hugh could find were items that float, lifesaving equipment. He spotted an old boom box radio used to play music during water aerobics and of course our gym bags.

He slid the radio into the pocket behind my chair and slid the gym bags up my arm. I let them slide off.

"Pick the fucking bags back up and put them on your arm," Mr. Gun sneered.

I had to warn Rangeman we were about to go off the air, "Do you really think the radio and our gym bags are enough added weight to sink us?"

"If not, we'll shoot you as you surface."

I was hoping Stephanie had access to her handcuff key. "Key?" I silently mouthed and looked at the cuffs. She nodded.

Pointing the gun at Stephanie, Mr. Gun ordered her to push me toward the pool.

When her back was turned to the gun, Steph swiftly put the key in my hand. In a very Houdini-like move, I placed the key in my mouth.

Grabbing Steph's left arm, Hugh swung around the back of the chair forcing her arm backward to meet my right arm with the bags. We were handcuffed back to back with the wheelchair back and radio between us.

"OK, sweetheart, walk backward," Mr. Gun said to Stephanie.

Stephanie shook her head 'no'.

The sound of the gun discharging was intense in the enclosed pool area. Stephanie screamed but I felt the burn in my abdomen. "If you don't want to be shot like the Colonel, MOVE," Mr. Gun ordered.

Steph pushed back until the front to the chair dipped into the water tipping forward. I fell forward and Stephanie was pulled back into the water over the top of the chair. I heard her scream out in pain and fear. The chair did a complete roll and sank. We were not weighted enough to sink to the bottom of the pool, yet. Mr. Gun rolled the lifeguard stand to the edge and pushed into onto the top of us. It too was semi-buoyant but tangled us into the ladder.

Our arms were turned in excruciatingly painful positions, but I was able to pull my left hand back towards me. Stephanie kicked out in obvious pain. It had been a long time since I tried to unlock handcuffs with the key in my mouth. This time the cuffs were not in front near my mouth but to the side. Bending I knew my shoulder was dislocated. Neither the bullet wound nor shoulder pain was as painful as the thought of drowning.

Carefully working the key around in my mouth, I slid down and tried to fit the key into the hole. I glanced at the slot and noticed Hugh had failed to double lock the cuffs. We might survive this after all. It didn't matter whose cuff I unlocked, both Stephanie and I would have an arm free. Thirty seconds. I twisted and reached; ignoring the searing pain as I tried to put the key in the impossibly small hole. The key slipped back into my mouth. Rolling it around I got it back out only to have the wrong end. I had to take precious seconds to roll the key around in my mouth. Finally, I had the correct end and tried to insert the key again and again. Sounds were muffled. I saw bullets' streaks in the water. The idiots were trying to shoot us even though we were below four feet. The bullet velocity was quickly eliminated by the water. _El Falcon_ didn't breed mental giants.

My lungs were screaming. I had to release the carbon dioxide. The key went into the hole. To hell with chipped teeth. I finally got it turned and one cuff sprang loose. It was Stephanie's hand. Mine was still in the cuffs. With her hand free, I could pull the cuffs under the chair seat freeing my arm. Stephanie's movements were frantic. I knew she starting to go into spasms. I pulled myself out of the chair and reached for the key with my free hand. Carefully taking the key from my mouth I tried to find the second cuffs' keyhole. I found the hole and inserted the key but it fell out, through my fingers and down towards the pool bottom. My lungs were searing, head pounding. I had to get to the pool bottom to find the key, but the damn bags were floating in my face. Stephanie was under the chair and was no longer moving. I twisted around wrenching my shoulder further from the socket feeling for the radio to remove a little weight and get the chair off Stephanie. I thought I saw more bullets in the water. My eyesight was narrowing, I had only moments to get us to neutral buoyancy, find the key, open the other cuff, and push the lifeguard stand to the side so I could pull both of us to the surface to a hail of bullets.

My mind was confused from all I had to do. Without realizing, I gulped in air, except it was water. The shock cleared my vision for a moment allowing me to see the radio, but I had no strength. I inhaled more water but the pain didn't register this time, my body reacted on its own trying to force out the water, I began to spasm. I knew I was drowning and I couldn't stop it. The last thing I remembered before losing consciousness was something brushed my hand, maybe one of the bags.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 **"I knew I was drowning and I couldn't stop it."**

 **Tank POV**

Stephanie's emergency button on her watch had alerted Rangeman. Immediately four units were sent to the pool but it was outside of Princeton, well out of the 10-minute radius for security response. I wasn't comfortable sending them to a pool outside of our coverage, but it was the only one who would accommodate VC's need. Of course we contacted the local police, but this time they were as delayed as we were. VC's phone recorded what was going on. I cringed each minute we were delayed. When the gun went off and the phone went dead, I prayed we would not find two dead women.

I was not driving, Hal wisely pushed me aside. The Princeton pool is 22 minutes away in the best of times. Today there was a multi-car accident seriously slowing our response and those of the police. This is why we haven't extended into Princeton for emergency response, too far and one road fuck-up puts us behind. The four units slammed to a stop by the pool door. Sirens were heard close behind us. As we ran through the doors, we didn't see the pool manager. It wasn't until later the police found him tied up and gagged in his office by the pool pumps

Entering the pool area with guns drawn we saw two men in suits firing into the water. The men turned when they heard the doors bang against the walls. One screamed, "Drop your weapons." Hal didn't hesitate. He fired hitting the man in the upper chest. Hal never stopped and continued until he had tackled the injured man. The other man fired at me but his concentration was split between Hal and me rushing towards him. He didn't get a chance to fire again before I slammed him to the ground where his head bounced off the decking. Hector and Manny ran to help Hal secure shot man and compress the wound. Junior and Bink came to aid me in securing the unconscious man and the loose gun. Ram immediately jumped into the pool.

Junior realized the unconscious man would not be a problem and joined Ram in the water. Bink was but a moment behind. After I handcuffed my man, Bobby and I remained on the pool deck edge trying to see what was happening in the water.

As Ram dove down, he brushed against Vassi's hand. She was floating on her side, one arm up above with a handcuff dangling from the wrist. Her other arm was tangled in gym bags, lifeguard stand, another handcuff, the wheelchair and something underneath. Ram and Bink pushed the guard stand away while Junior pulled Stephanie from underneath the chair. Ram wrapped his arms around Vassi, Junior had Stephanie and Bink grabbed the chair. Using their powerful legs the three pushed off from the bottom and kicked to the surface. I handed my handcuff key to Bink and the second handcuffs was released. The chair, gym bags, and guard stand sunk to the pool's bottom.

Stephanie's lips were blue. Bobby felt for a pulse and quickly began CPR while Junior began mouth to mouth. Ram remained with Vassi and felt for a pulse, it was weak and thready. "Mouth to mouth, NOW," Ram yelled to me but I didn't need encouragement. Ram continued to monitor the pulse.

With fear in my heart I carefully opened Vassi's mouth, tilted back her head and emptied my lungs unto hers. But her chest didn't move. Taking another big breath I tried again but felt resistance, "She's blocked."

Ram rolled her over, lifted her by her waist and performed the Heimlich maneuver. Water ran from her mouth. He gave her diaphragm another push and more water emerged. After the second squeeze Ram laid her back down and I returned to the resuscitation. With the first breath the chest rose.

Each new breath the chest rose again. We noted blood seeping through the sodden sweatshirt. Ram lifted it and saw the gunshot wound high on the abdomen. "She's got a GSW," Ram called, "Left abdomen." Bink grabbed Bobby's medical bag and rushed to Vassi. He pushed aside the sweatshirt and applied the compress.

It took only a few breaths before Vassi tried to breathe on her own. Coughing and retching water we rolled her to her uninjured side, allowing the water to escape.

Bobby, Junior, and Hector were having a harder time bringing back Stephanie. They switched off positions while the third rested for a few moments. The police and EMT's arrival caught us by surprise. The EMT's took over Steph's resuscitation. Finally one said the loveliest words, "We have a pulse." Stephanie's body responded by trying to expel the water in her lungs.

Bobby rushed to Vassi's side and felt the wound and surrounding areas. "I can't be certain but I don't think it penetrated deeply,"

The man I tackled was still unconscious, but the one with the chest wound was alive, secured, and on his way to the hospital. Bobby went in the ambulance with Stephanie, Ram went with Vassi. I desperately wanted to accompany her but I was the ranking Rangeman at the scene. I had to stay and explain what we heard on Vassi's phone and what we saw when we entered the pool. The two government men's IDs were examined and a sergeant called to the scene moaned, "US Postal Service Inspection Service and U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement? What the hell is going on?"

"Sir," I began, "There's a major corruption scandal breaking in Washington involving a host of government agencies. These two are probably part of the plot. I'd trust nobody outside of your own agency." I was surprised two lower-ranking government agents were involved. Maybe they hadn't yet been identified as being Arturo's spawn.

"I need to call my captain."

"He and your chief may want to avoid talking to the FBI for a while. That's where the scandal began."

-0-

 **VC POV**

"Stephanie?" I croaked. I was dry and warm, probably in a hospital.

"Still in ICU but Bobby said she's coming along."

I didn't ask more, my brain was still foggy. My abdominal bullet wound was not deep. It sliced through muscle but did not penetrate any organs below. It was definitely more painful but not life-threatening. Only one shoulder was dislocated but didn't require surgery.

"Your arm workouts made you more flexible, you've avoided much tissue damage. Still recovery will be slow. If it doesn't heal you may need surgery in the future. For sure you won't be doing sit-ups for a while," Bobby explained. He waited a moment and continued, "I wish you would stay out of hospitals. Just because I'm a medic doesn't mean I appreciate the work."

"That makes three of us," Pierre muttered.

"Are there guards outside my door? I don't want more unwelcome family visitors."

Pierre chuckled, "Rangeman and Secret Service. The President agrees with you. Your father has been apprised of your condition and is waiting to hear your voice, no matter how hoarse you are."

"Did my phone call come through?"

"Loud and clear. That was quite the tale you spun for them. How much was true?"

"I'm not sure. I was throwing out hunches and talking in circles waiting for the cavalry. What took so long?"

Pierre swore, something he rarely does, "Damn fuck-up on the road coming up, cars backed up for miles. Even the police and EMTs were tied up. Your rescuers were from Lawrenceville coming up the back roads."

"I couldn't get to my weapon, I feel like such an amateur. I removed it when we left the car and put it in the bottom of my bag. The bag was already out of reach when they entered the pool. I was trying to delay long enough for Stephanie to escape. Ranger is going to execute me for nearly getting Steph killed."

-0-

Poor Stephanie needed surgery on both shoulders. Instead of going to a rehab center, she was moved to a private home and had round-the-clock nursing. The home belonged to Ranger under an alias. Once she was settled and I was able to get out and about for a few hours, Pierre and I went to visit. Ranger was still among the missing. The situation with Jeanne Ellen and Lee hadn't been resolved.

"Steph, I need to apologize, I nearly got you killed."

She took it well. "I should have bolted out the door when you gave me the chance but I didn't want to leave you alone. I also thought about getting your weapon out of the bag at the beginning and again when that man made you put them on your arm, but he was always watching."

"Maybe it was for the best. The gun's weight took us down faster out of their range. Even if I had pulled it out after unlocking the first cuff, I'm not sure I could have hit him from underwater. I was trying to get the second handcuffs unlocked first. Too much to do….." I was getting depressed. Pierre put his hand on my shoulder. He understood soldier remorse.

"We both screwed up our shoulders. You know what the worst part is?" Stephanie said trying to cheer me up.

I smiled, "Bathroom. I can't push myself out of the chair and you can't move your arms."

"We are pathetic."

I nodded. "Look on the bright side, you won't be stuffing your face with preservative chemicals and sugars and gaining weight. Bobby has designed a delicious and nutritious menu to help you heal."

"I can get doughnuts to my mouth just fine. Plus I know someone who loves apple fritters," she shot back.

"Yes, once or twice a year, not several times a week. Stephanie, neither of us is getting younger. Our bodies change after 35. We are entering the second half of our lives, we can't be abusing ourselves the way we did in the past. Now is the time to build up and maintain."

She looked contrite. Maybe she would change her diet and start working out. Miracles happen, we were two examples. Of course we both needed to stay away from crazies and hospitals.

As Pierre and I turned to leave I casually said, "If Ranger continues to hide out here, he's going to have to remember to put his morning smoothie glass in the dishwasher."

Stephanie mumbled something like, "Don't you miss anything?"

As Pierre helped me into the vehicle, he was chuckling, "Eagle-eye."

"How long have you known he was there?"

"He was at the house when she arrived from the hospital."

-0-

The fall-out from FBI Arturo continued. There were a fair number of new positions available in Washington. The Supreme Court had a vacancy due to the sudden death of one of its members. It wasn't a natural death, SIGSW, self-inflicted gunshot wound. Several congressmen and senators came under investigation for taking Adelante bribes. For certain they would not be running for reelection. Hearings would last for years. The media loves a good scandal.

Not only was Washington experiencing sudden resignations, federal, state, and local civil servants especially in the Northeast, but were also suddenly resigning. Police departments in major cities found themselves looking for chiefs or assistant chiefs. Birth certificates became important for hiring as well as promotions. The fact Mr. Gun, later identified as Kevin Turlot and Hugh Sanchez were enforcement officers in lower level government agencies showed how deeply Arturo had placed his offspring.

Rangeman was down two employees. Gerald and Thomas were gone. Thomas left suddenly without notice soon after the pool incident. The stress was too much for him. Between his father's instructions and other siblings' dictates, plus the harassment from the Rangeman men for "losing" the Colonel, he had to run.

Working from home, Stephanie, located him in a remote part of the state. SGM Perkins and the local police took him into custody. A call from SGM Perkins was sad, "He'll never be the same. He's completely mentally broken. He might get help but there's a good chance he'll end up broken permanently and living under a bridge. He was not one of Arturo's stronger sons."

"Can't we help him?" I asked thinking back to Ranger calling Thomas a good soldier.

"He needs to want to get better."

Soon after Thomas ran, Gerald went into Tank's office. SGM Perkins appeared and took the Rangeman away. I didn't expect to hear from Gerald, but he asked the SGM if I would talk with him.

When I could again get around Gerald was sitting quietly in a room surrounded by US Marshals. "You want to speak to me Mr. Bennet?" I asked.

"Colonel, I want to apologize to you," he said honestly.

"I'm not the only one you should apologize to. Stephanie, Ranger, Hector, Silvio in Miami and all the Trenton Rangemen were affected by your actions. You have been working off-site for months trying to break into Rangeman's mainframe. Plus you put explosive devices in the Server Room. How many Rangemen were you willing to kill just to eliminate a computer?"

"You knew?"

"I've known from the very beginning. Over a year ago Silvio saw your father's pathetic attempts to overpower Rangeman's mainframe. Rangeman knew about your bugging the building soon after, long before I showed up. Hector played with you, finding some devices, ignoring others.

"When I came to Rangeman and started investigating, you and Thomas were among a half dozen employees I suspected from the beginning. You and your two computer-hacking siblings in Washington DC were occasionally led into dead ends to throw you off the trail. I don't know if you or the FBI planted the explosives but by then we pretty much knew who you all were and what you were trying to do. Destroying the computer room at Rangeman was useless. Everything had been moved off site. Of course we knew you'd bug the vehicle Thomas as driving."

"I didn't know you were going to be kidnapped and injured. I wasn't told that would happen."

I'd let him think that was his father's plan, not ours. "Yes and then Stephanie and I came within a hair of being shot and drowned thanks to two more of your siblings. When Jean Ellen and Lee were murdered by your half-brother, Ranger had to go into hiding to remain safe before your father did to him what he nearly did to me and Stephanie. "

"Gerald, I'm not playing a martyr. Since I was 13 my life has been filled with physical and mental pain, well beyond what you can imagine. I've learned the body can repair most everything, not all, but most. It's the mental damage that is hard to overcome. I can sit in ashes and cry out to God, "Why me?" Or I can _metaphorically_ stand up, brush off what has happened and move back into the light. I've found goodness and happiness will return, they always have, but I have to want it and work back into it."

"My father was...insane."

"I would have added a few more adverbs, but yes, he was a megalomaniac. His insanity bled over to others either by genetics or association. His insanity led to an unknown number of people being killed including his own children."

"I knew he was wrong and I knew he had people killed. I was frightened."

"Gerald, your bugging Rangeman plus your hacking attempt were the sparks that ignited the explosion. The Lorenz Chaos Theory also called the Butterfly Effect may have originally been applied to meteorological events, but they apply here too. If Gregory Simpson had kept his penis in his pants years ago in a bar in the Philippines, I wouldn't be here."

Gerald looked confused, "Was he one of my siblings?"

"No, he wasn't related to you. His father, Senator Simpson was a friend of your fathers and co-conspirator. Gregory Simpson became Arturo's main investment manager.

"Thirteen years ago I was a freshly-minted MP Captain supervising two MPs responding to a call of rowdy Army Rangers in a bar. Tank, Hal, Ranger, and Simpson were part of the rowdy group. For actions that day I was severely punished by order of Senator Simpson through a corrupt Army general paid with your father's money. For years I was down the rabbit hole so often I tried to kill myself. I recovered and then met another disaster," I said waving at my wheelchair. I wanted to die again. Tank had recently returned to my life and talked me into giving life one more chance. For all the bad years, I'm finally seeing the light."

"My coming to Trenton was to find out why Rangeman was bugged. Once I caught a whiff of what was happening, many people in several countries have been working together to bring down Arturo Estripe before his evil plan went into effect.

"So you weren't out for revenge?" He asked.

Shaking my head no, "No Gerald. I didn't discover Arturo/Aries and the Simpson connection until well into the investigation. I was trying to discover why someone had singled out Rangeman."

"So you and Tank are close because he saved your life?"

"Twice and again at the pool. Now it is your turn to talk. What were your instructions regarding Rangeman?"

After talking for several hours, he was brittle. One more nudge from me and he'd shatter like his brother Thomas.

"What's going to happen to me?"

"Gerald, I don't know. Legally it will take time to sort. For sure I'd get one hell of a defense attorney."

-0-

One afternoon as I sat on the Rangeman gym bench trying to coax more controlled movement in my legs with the elastic bands, Tank came in, "Ready to call it a day?"

"May we finish it with a dance?" I held up my hands to him.

He reached down and lifted me carefully to my feet holding me under my arms. I had been standing, with support for several days mostly as a transition to and from the chair.

He nodded, "You lead."

I carefully shifted weight from one leg to another trying to coax each foot off the ground. In time the feet came up and moved forward...and then backward an inch or two. I could only move to the right, not the left. "It's no foxtrot," I smiled. I did a couple more steps before I realized the gym was crowded with Rangemen. Everyone had a big smile and finally broke into hooting. Bobby came over, "May I cut in?"

"You want to dance with Tank?"

"Smart ass," he smiled.

I didn't feel as confident in Bobby's arms. Tank was supporting me. Bobby wanted me to stand more on my own. Plus he was carefully watching my feet. When he allowed me to sit and rest, he flicked off my shoes, rotated my feet, tested my reflexes, "You know what this means?"

"I need a pedicure?"

He decided to play along. Looking over my feet he said, "Yeah, you really do need a pedicure. But this also means it's time for long rides on the exercise bike."

I smiled broadly. The stationary bike and treadmill were two of my goals. If I could control the legs enough to start rebuilding the muscles, I'd walk. Maybe not elegantly, but I'd walk. The other Rangeman guys in the gym came and hugged me. They too understood this was a giant step, literally. So I began pedaling to nowhere for hours at a time.

-0-

Lee Sebring suddenly appeared in Newark with US Marshals. An anonymous tip from an untraceable source pinpointed his location at the U.S. Embassy in New Zealand. He refused to say how he got there.

The security camera's recording showing Lee and Ranger in a conference at the time Jeanne Ellen was slain was turned over to the Newark police, a copy was sent to the White House via diplomatic courier.

The Newark police were reluctant to accept the video was authentic. They tried hard to discover if it was cobbled together to show Ranger's innocence. The district attorney was starting to prepare murder cases against Carlos Manoso and Lee Sebring.

Several days later two additional US Marshals brought one Juan Diego Escalante aka _El Fantasma_ back from solitary confinement in Jamaica. Everyone assumed he was Carlos Manoso but when they looked again, Juan Diego did have the correct skin tone, height, and similar facial features, but the body wasn't as well developed, the walk wasn't as smooth. Juan Diego professed innocence but DNA taken from the house where Jeanne Ellen was slain had a McDonald's soda cup and fries box in the trash behind the house with Juan Diego's prints. This had never been revealed to the FBI as the Newark police were insulted the FBI tried to horn in on their murder investigation. When Juan Diego learned there was proof on video that Carlos Manoso had a solid alibi, he began to waver. It wasn't until DNA evidence proved Juan Diego was the half-brother of Jeanne Ellen and son of Arturo Estribe that he confessed. His curses for his father were memorable. Somebody thought to check Ricardo Carlos Manoso's DNA stored with the US Army and it showed he was not related at all to Arturo.

Carlos Manoso was cleared of all charges, the investigation dropped, but that didn't let Lee Sebring off the hook. He put his brother in harm's way. Suddenly the investigation stopped. The President of the United States issued Lee Sebring a blanket pardon for all yet to be determined offenses and offered condolences. Lee left New Jersey. He needed to put as much space between him and the pain endured in Trenton; the loss of his brother, deaths of Jeanne Ellen and the baby plus the continual gossip from the idiots in the Burg. Only a few of us know he returned to Newfoundland with his new identity. We wish him a quiet life.

 **-0-**

With all charges against Ranger dropped, he still had not appeared in Trenton, Rangeman or any of the other Rangeman facilities in Boston, Atlanta, and Miami. For that matter, Stephanie Plum had not been seen since being released from the rehabilitation facility. While the Core Team and I knew where they were, rumors through the Burg had her running off with Carlos Manoso, living on the lam. The fact charges were dropped didn't matter to the narrow-minded Burg gossipers.

Every time Helen Plum talked to Tank, she was told Stephanie was in a rehab away from Trenton. Pierre pleaded with Stephanie to call her mother. The rants were getting ugly.

I was with Stephanie for moral support the day she called her mother. Steph put the call on speaker so I could listen to the abuse she had endured for years. Helen urged her daughter to return to Joe Morelli. Stephanie smiled and mocked her mother with hand gesters as the woman ran on and on. When Helen began to run down, Stephanie let her have it with both barrels.

"No way in Hell am I going back to Joe Morelli or any other Burg idiot you drag from the trash, mother. As is so typical, the Burg is living on lies and misinformation. If you were to talk to Angie Morelli you would know Joe is no longer with the Trenton Police. He told his mother he was tired of her's and the Burg's stupid and racist gossip and he needed to straighten up his life. He accepted a transfer to Baltimore. He left two weeks ago. As for me, I too am finished with your gossiping."

"I don't gossip. People want to know," she choked out as if she was caught drinking liquids. Steph had told me her mother and JackD were close friends.

"What they want and what they have a right to know are in different universes. As a parent it was your job to protect me from those sharp tongues. Instead you participated in shredding my self-worth so you could garner others' sympathy. 'Poor Helen, she has that awful Stephanie as a daughter.' You never supported me. You pushed me into being something that was not me. I've moved on, away from the Burg, away from the small minds, away from the Burg racists who condemn everyone and everything that isn't like them. It took Joe a long time to realize that he too needed to leave to gain a life."

"But they are my friends…"

"Who call you a drunken shrew behind your back. They call Grandma Mazur crazy because she prefers to live her life with gusto instead of hiding behind perfectly clean windows. Daddy is referred to as the pathetic old man who virtually lives at the Lodge to avoid his wretched wife. You are laughed at behind your back by those you consider your friends. I've never wanted your pathetic, miserable life. No wonder you are a drunk. You aren't kidding anyone with your ice teas. Your breath gives you away each time you open your mouth. Whatever time I have left I'm going to live it with joy with a man whose skin color isn't lily white, who isn't Italian, who eats vegetables, and who legally carries a gun. It is not your concern if we marry or not or if we have children or not. If we do have children, you will not destroy them the way you are destroying Valerie's girls demeaning them the way you did me. You may never meet them at all."

Helen sputtered, "Why you ungrateful…."

"Yep, I'm ungrateful for the way you and the Burg have treated me. All of you berated me because I was not the perfect Burg Barbie. When I needed love, you told me I was an embarrassment. You hide behind the Burg's wall of racism and bitchery. I wanted to grab life, to fly, be something other than a Burg prisoner. It hasn't been easy, but with the people I've met who are now my dear friends and a fair bit of psychological counseling, I am finally free to be me, not a captive of the Burg Way. You will never understand what it is like to live life fully, discovering a world beyond Hamilton Avenue. I know no reason why we need to talk further." Stephanie ended the call.

"Do you think she listened?" I asked.

"I really don't care anymore. I hope to be a role model to girls who want to fly free. As I told her, whatever time I have left I'm going to live it with joy and Ranger."

I smiled, "Sounds like you two are working towards a common goal. I wish you the best."

 **-0-**

I had ear buds in so didn't hear my brother enter the gym. "Niko! What a surprise."

"Are you pushing the pedals or is the machine rotating them for you?" His eyes continued to watch my feet.

I moved my feet away from the pedals allowing the rotation to slow, replaced my feet and began pedaling faster.

His eyes grew wide, "You are controlling your legs?"

"Yep and I can walk now like an old lady." I pointed to a walker, "Please."

Slowly I transitioned from the bike to the walker and showed him I could walk but still needed help with balance.

" _Doxa a Theos"_ (Glory to God) he whispered in Greek as he hugged me tightly and actually sobbed.

I nodded, "And to my family and Rangeman family who wouldn't let me give up even though I wanted to."

I pulled back, "Don't get me wrong, I love seeing you, but why are you here?"

"Command performance...there," he said as he tipped his head.

"When?" As twins we often spoke in single words.

"Within 48."

Yeah, Ari was a hurry-up guy. "Trinket?" It was our nickname for medals and awards.

"Maybe."

"State?" Was this to be some formal gig where I'd need to be in uniform or formal attire?

He shook his head no. I wasn't surprised. Syria would forever remain hush-hush.

The location was a remote Israeli Army base, underground assembly room that doubled as a lunchroom. The last time I was in this room, I was headed to Syria.

Those in attendance were dressed in military desert camo or civilian casual. At first glance it looked like a typical gathering for a meal. Everyone there was a member of Mossad.

I was wheeled in by Tank who stood behind me. My father and brother were next to me. Ari excused himself from a group and climbed onto a dining table and began speaking in Hebrew. Only Tank couldn't understand but he remained at parade rest. As Ari got to the gushing part about my helping Israel over the years I glanced at my brother who winked back. When Ari said my name he climbed off the table and began walking towards me, I gave him the standoff sign. He stopped confused. Tank had shown security men the walker held a folded walker at the back of the chair. He set it in front of me. "Lord don't fail me now," I prayed quietly and stood slowly. Once I was secure I slowly walked to Ari who still had the deer-in-the-highlights look. He stepped forward and hugged me and I believe wept into my neck. I could sense Tank behind me in case I started to falter. As I turned I saw my father crying. I had to shut my eyes lest I too began the waterworks. Cheers were echoing through the room.

Niko came forward and together with Pierre and two other security men I was lifted onto the table. When the noise stopped, my words of gratitude spilled forth. I stressed continued vigilance and strength. What I said wasn't that much different than what others have spoken but the gratitude was deeply embedded...literally for my life twenty plus years before in Egypt and again when my team dug through building rubble to rescue me, and of course the scientists and physicians, therapists who developed the experimental medical procedure.

Almost as quickly as everyone assembled, they dispersed. There were ghosts defending their country. Tank, Niko, and a security man helped me down, Ari hugged me again, "My daughter, again you surprise me." He then was whisked away by his security force. Maybe a dozen men were left, security for Papa, Niko, Pierre, and me.

Papa turned to Niko, "Did you know?"

"Yes, she wanted to make an impact."

"She damn near gave me a heart attack." With that he wrapped his arms around me holding me up, "I never stopped praying."

"Keep on praying, Papa. I'm not running marathons. Right now getting across the room is a big deal."

"Vassi, I know you. You will push forward."

He was still holding onto me while I simply said quietly, "Yes Papa, you know me better than I know myself.

 **-0-**

Without warning Ranger returned to Rangeman announcing his arrival by barking "Report" as he stepped from the elevator onto the Command Floor. While everyone was relieved to see him again, there was a quick "Hooah" from the Army guys, a few "Oorah" from the Marines and the Navy SEALS got in their "Hooyahs." It all sounded the same. Immediately they returned to work as he expected.

Lester was the floor supervisor. "All quiet overnight, no alarms. There is a new client meeting at 13:00. Three employees are out with food poisoning after dining at a questionable food cart by the river walk. They are expected to return to work in 48 hours. We are also two employees short as Gerald and Thomas have left."

Ranger knew about Gerald and Thomas but growled nonetheless. He then looked around the fifth-floor interior, "Repainted?"

"Hector and several others volunteered to help Luis repaint the control room and offices giving everything a fresh new look. They so liked their work, they did several other floors or individual apartments."

Ranger understood this was code that the listening devices were totally gone.

Seeing Tank's office door open Ranger growled, "Where is Tank?"

He and VC were called out suddenly thirty hours ago. All they said was they'd be dark for a while."

"Is it a medical situation for the Colonel?" Ranger asked.

"Unknown."

Ranger looked worried, "So no idea when he'll return?"

At that moment the elevator door opened and Pierre helped VC out. She was using a walker.

Lester looked up and said, "I'd say about now."

 **VC POV**

I was better with the walker. Initially, Pierre was certain I'd tumble backward so he stayed close. Now he was more relaxed. Pierre had told me Ranger was due back today and was probably on the Command Floor, so seeing him rush towards me was expected. I figured he'd give me a beat down for nearly killing Stephanie.

"Colonel, there seems to be some change here."

"Yes, sir. I'm enjoying seeing the world from this altitude again. I'm slow moving around now but expect to pick up speed. You've been missed."

Suddenly he embraced me and kissed me. Judging from everyone else's expression, this was an action only taken with Stephanie. I wasn't sure of the reason but I noticed he was beginning to relax. Perhaps this was the first time Ranger had been relaxed since the bugging incident. How many others knew the bugging extended throughout much of the building, not just my room? The Core Team would need to discuss the events, how much to tell the staff, and then work with Bobby and a psychologist in setting up counseling and stress release activities so the entire staff could meld back together.

Ranger took my hand and looked down, "I thought you might have skipped out and gotten married."

"We are working on it. I want to be able to walk down the aisle a bit more gracefully, maybe with only a cane. Bobby thinks it won't be long now. Plus we wanted you and Stephanie there. While you can't be the _koumbaro_ as you aren't Orthodox Christians, Stephanie can be my maid or matron of honor depending on her status. Speaking of marriage Manoso, when are you going to _git 'er done?_ "

Ranger laughed. "Maybe you two need to show us the way."

This was the first time Ranger had even hinted marriage was in their future. It was a big step! "We will gladly drag you down the aisle with us."

Later that day Pierre and I were chatting during dinner when he looked up, "Only three more weeks before we wed."

I pushed my salad around the plate, "Church bureaucracy is worse than the Army. Bishops need to sign off on the certificate. Remember, I did ask if we were going to Las Vegas."

"We had an investigation to finish. This is fine. Are you sure you don't want a big affair?"

I shot him a glare worthy of one of Stephanie's Jersey-girl glares. "Between my family and your guests from here, our list is under 50 people. Maybe we could just rent a bowling alley and bowl a few lines?"

He shook his head, "You are impossible. We will have a small dignified affair."

"Better leave Lester home."

He barked a laugh, "You have become a Rangewoman."

"You mean I've got a job?!" I kidded.

He chuckled, "Yes, Hector has asked that you be allowed to stay working with us. He has some ideas for a new division. We'll discuss it later. Meantime, where do you want to go on a honeymoon?"

"Pierre, you've taken so much time away from work to help me, I think we can forgo or delay any long excursion. While your house is wonderful, could we have at least a couple of nights in New York?"

"The Plaza?"

" _Oui Monsieur Jacquez."_ I loved the anonymity portraying his wife.

"Do you want to do any shows, restaurants, or concerts?"

"I'll let you choose. My first choice is to soak with you in that huge tub again and second is to spend days in that glorious bed."

"We can have a giant tub put in the house or better yet, build a new house around the tub or even add an indoor pool. I will admit a bigger bed might be a good idea too."

"I take it a nursery is out?" I asked with hope.

"I think you are about as much as I can handle, Sweet Lips."

#

 **A/N** Thank you all for riding along with this different story. When I began, I had no idea where we'd finish. Thanks go to all you readers for your encouragement and questions which often helped me clear up or rethink sections. My biggest thank-you goes to my Beta reader Kathy who tries to keep me literate. While I have another story ready to go...a near totally Babe story...I'm giving my poor Beta a chance to recover as we pushed this story out quickly.


	18. Chapter 18

Several people have PMed me suggesting since I had a Prologue, I need an Epilogue:

Epilogue:

Let's peek in on our Trenton friends sometime in the future:

Winter snows had come early and showed no signs of leaving. In more rural areas of Mercer County, the farms lay quietly under the white blanket, the evergreen trees still jealously guarded their snow. In Trenton the once beautiful pristine white covering was now sullied with road salts and sand splashed about by passing traffic. Vehicles were covered slush and salt haze. Even the air was fouled by the corrosive spray. The sun had not been seen in weeks.

During the Christmas season, the winter mess was more tolerable as homes were illuminated with outdoor lights and candles in the windows. In the gentrified rural areas landscapes were decorated with twinkling lights in the trees or wreaths and swags along fences and gates. In Catholic ethnic neighborhood home yards the ever-present Holy Mother statue in her up-tipped bathtub grotto finally had company. A small cradle held the Holy Child, but instead of Joseph, Magi, and angels, adoring the child, giant inflated creatures competed for the remaining outdoor space. Apparently Biblical passages failed to mention the visiting penguins, nutcrackers, snowmen or Snoopy.

Life at Rangeman barely acknowledged the calendar or season. A security business was 24/7 as was crime. The holidays brought more home burglaries as Grinches stole Christmas gifts from under people's trees. Retail shops experience more break-ins for those who wished to shop after hours. The malls and larger stores needed more security to reduce shoplifting and parking lot break-ins. For the employees at Rangeman the increased Holiday crime rate meant bonus checks in their post New Year's pay.

Stephanie was standing in the Break Room refilling her coffee mug missing the Christmas cookies Ella managed to get to the room just before coffee break. The next treats wouldn't come until Valentine's Day in February. Tank entered the break room in his usual quiet manner. How such a large man could more so quietly perplexed Stephanie. "The next work schedule looks good," he said as he moved towards the fruit bowl to grab an orange.

"Even with the new computer program, honoring everyones' request for time off was a nightmare, but I think everyone was happy. Now I have more time to work on new clients. Personally I'd rather be working on new clients someplace warm, like Antigua. I'm so tired of the cold weather."

"Why haven't you scheduled a vacation for you and Ranger?" Tank asked.

"I grumble each time I put on my boots, coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, hinting that the Miami office needs a visit. I can't imagine what you go through dressing your little ones."

He chuckled, "George is threatening to glue the gloves on their hands."

-0-

Ranger and Stephanie decided not to have children. The motherly instincts never germinated let alone blossomed. Her own childhood and her mother problems were the major factors. Of course Helen ranted about her selfish daughter not wanting a child, but not to her daughter's face. Communication lines between Stephanie and her mother had been cut years before. It was the beauticians at Clip n Curl who now heard Helen's tirades. Most ignored her. The more courageous ones disagreed with Helen. "Stephanie Manoso is a model for young women in town. More would do well to seek an education and career rather than pumping out babies at nineteen like you did." Another rebuttal was often along the line, "Your daughter is living her own life, not one dictated by her mother or the out-of-touch-with-reality Burg residents. As a result she is now a highly respected businesswoman, serves on numerous philanthropic committees in Mercer County, and married to a gorgeous man."

"You mean a thug," Helen hissed.

The beautician started laughing, "Mrs. Plum you are so wrong it is comical. You are truly living in the land of denial. The true thug is that retired cop Morelli. Not only did he have several excessive force charges against him as a cop, he was also Trenton's Lothario. He was screwing half of Trenton while he tried to woo your daughter. He was using her penchant for town gossip to hide his lascivious acts."

"How dare you say that about Joseph."

"Then why did Gina, his wife of four months shoot him?"

"It was an accident. The gun misfired."

The beautician laughed. "That's Angie Morelli's story knowing people like you will spread the lie. The police department even signed off on it so they could get him out of the department quickly. Gina came home and found Joe in their bed with Stella Margucci. If his gun misfired, how did Gina end up with his house and half his pension? He's fortunate his only lasting injury is a limp. Gina was aiming for something more personal. That's why he's a night security guard in a retirement village. I wonder if he's getting any action there?"

"Men sometimes need more than a wife is willing to provide."

"Is that the same line you fed your daughters or are you speaking from experience Mrs. Plum?"

Helen glared at the beautician but wisely held her tongue. Pissing off someone perming your hair could give you months of bad hair days.

-0-

Twice a month Stephanie ate lunch with her father at his lodge. They had long ago repaired their relationship and now enjoyed each other's company. She had cut back dramatically on junk food, but the lodge's Mac-and-cheese, was to die for.

Frank admitted he was not happy in his marriage. When asked why he stayed with his wife, he shrugged and answered, "If we were to divorce and split the property, we'd both be living at poverty level. I've moved into your old bedroom, Pumpkin. She has her house, her ironing, and her bottle. Since Edna moved to senior living, it is very quiet at home. Your mother and I rarely talk to each other."

"You sat at the dinner table for years and only said, "Pass the gravy."

Reaching up to his ear, he pulled out a hearing aid. "I never wear them at home."

Stephanie started laughing, "How long have you worn hearing aids?"

"Fifteen years but I quit wearing them at home when Edna came to live with us. Your husband will probably wear them in a few years. Gunfire and loud music do a number on our ears."

-0-

George Christofondodoulous, retired Lt. General US Army had escaped the insanity that was Washinton DC. Most expected he'd hang around waiting to be called by a Fortune 500 company to add respectability and decorum. Instead he found himself bundling up the four year old twins he had convinced Pierre and his daughter Vassi to adopt.

A hurricane decimated the island of Martinique, his late-wife's home. He along with his son Niko, Vassi, Tank, and several men from Rangeman traveled to Martinique to help with the recovery. While working on rebuilding an orphanage, George saw two, two year olds playing quietly together. When he asked the priest in charge about them, he learned they were orphaned in the storm.

After a long day of work, Tank, Niko, Ram, Lester, Bobby, and Vassi were returning to camp. George, VC's father had returned earlier but now was cuddling two small children. "These twins lost their family, they are orphans," George said as he held each on a shoulder. "They remind me so much of you and Niko at this age."

Vassi looked at her brother and in "twin communication" thought, "Uh oh. We are about to be blind-sided."

Niko shook his head no, "I have two adolescent girls. I'm not up for two, two year olds."

George looked at Tank and his daughter, "No way would adoption be possible for a single man my age, but I am offering to be a full-time Nanny."

Tank smiled broadly, he had never totally given up the hope of being a father. By this time other Rangemen joined the conversation, "We can be uncles."

Vassi looked at Tank and the other Rangemen and knew she was lost. Since they had come together again, the Pierre Sherman turned out to be the squishy nougat inside a hard outer dark chocolate coating. "We need to talk," she said knowing she was going into the conversation on the losing side.

The priest was ecstatic the children would be adopted. Pierre was over joyed to have a family. Vassi thought back to her youth with Niko and her parents and decided she might enjoy being a mother.

George whispered to his granddaughter, Sarah, as he slipped the snow boots over her feet, " _Vos bottes sont preseque trop pepites."_ (You boots are almost too small)

Sarah giggled, "English _GramPapa."_

George smiled, "No sweetheart, I'm training your brain to learn new languages. Your _mere_ speaks six languages. And your _pere_ speaks four."

Sarah's eyes glowed, "How many do you speak _GramPapa?_ "

George paused, "At one time I could speak five, but my brain is slowing down. I want to exercise it back into shape by helping you two."

Raphael spoke up for the first time, " _Mi tios me hablan espanol,"_

" _Mis tios me hablan,_ Raphael," George smiled, "They are good men. You are fortunate to have so many uncles who love you. Your _pere_ will take you to see them tomorrow. "

"Will you come too _GramPapa_?" Raphael asked.

" _Si, mi nieto._ We will play with them in their big gym." During the cold winter months Ranger allowed the children into the gym to burn off energy with their adopted uncles.

-0-

VC now went by the name Vassi. Marrying Tank she was able to drop the tongue twisting last name Christofondodoulous. However, the Rangemen continued to call her VC, even Vassi was too long for them. As she came up the Haywood Street building's stairs to the 5th floor command floor she met Hector coming down the stairs.

"Hola Chica," he smiled knowing the name chica pissed her off.

Had it be anyone other than Hector, she would have slugged his arm. "Vete al dominion, pendejo."

Hector laughed as he continued down the stairs. They were actually very good friends

As she opened the stairwell door, Stephanie saw her and said, "Looks like second shift is here," Steph said. Time for Papa to head home." VC and Tank often worked opposite shifts or split shifts so one could be home with the kids. Even Grandpa George needed a break.

"What chaos did the terrors cause today?" Tank asked as he kissed his wife.

Vassi laughed, "No chaos, we went ice skating. They did very well for their first attempts. Dad was more concerned about me falling than the kids."

"Can you blame him? I'm not sure I wouldn't have been chewing the rails as well," Tank said remembering VC encounter with paralysis several years before.

"I was always a good ice skater but I did go down on one knee when Raf's blade crossed mine. The two terrors are tired tonight. To give Dad a break, I suggest easing the two into bed with soft stories instead of tag-team wrestling."

"Am I cooking dinner?"

" I made beef stew with extra vegetables. Gram-Papa made baguettes. You might to throw together a salad if Dad hasn't make one."

Tank smiled, "Who knew a 3-star general was also a baker."

VC laughed out loud, "He can bake but between him, the terrors and the pups the kitchen was a mess. I had to vacuum flour out of the dogs' fur. I didn't have time to bathe them, swab the kitchen and change the kids."

Tank shook his head, "I don't know how your mother handled the two of you while your father was away."

"She was 24 years old. At that age anything is possible. We are dinosaurs, all three of us." Then noticing Stephanie listening in, "You sure you and Ranger don't want to join the fun?"

Stephanie laughed, "I'm a step-mother to a teenage girl and aunt to your two. I'm all booked up." She wanted to add aunt to three nieces, but Albert had a brain transplant and saw his wife becoming another Helen Plum. For the sake of his daughter LIsa and his two step daughters he gave Valerie an ultimatum, move away from Trenton or divorce. Valerie was greatly torn, but the thought of a second divorce was overwhelming. The Kloughns moved to Atlanta where Albert works as an attorney for Rangeman Atlanta. He had six months to make major improvements to his weight and fitness as a condition of employment. He succeeded and Valerie also trimmed down, losing her "gravy fat." Most importantly, the girls are no longer being raised in the Burg Way.

"Coward," VC smiled at Stephanie.

"Yep, that's us," Ranger said as he came up behind Stephanie and wrapped his arm around her waist. "Plus we have a building full of men, some of whom are still struggling with adolescence."

"Surely you don't mean me," Lester said as he rounded the Break Room's corner heading for the coffee pot.

"You were tops on my list."

Lester laughed, "My wife probably agrees with you."

Tank had gone back to his office to get his coat when a call came in, "Alarm, 1707 Albion. Perimeter alarm."

Tank turned around but VC stopped him. "I've got it, go home." Then turning back to the monitors and looking at the board marking locations of all Rangeman on patrol, "Roll team 3, seven back up, move team 2 three blocks south until others clear."

"Ten-four," came the snappy reply from the dispatcher.

Turning back to Tank, VC said, "Drive carefully, the roads are icy." Then she planted a kiss on his lips.

Ranger watched his #2 and #2.1 in action. He never thought Tank would find his heart-mate but now that he has, they made a perfect team; Rangeman team, husband and wife team, and parents.

-0-

Tank rolled through the gates of his rural Mercer County home. Most days the commute from downtown Trenton where Rangeman was located to his home took less than 15 minutes if not done during prime driving time. Accidents had a way of clogging the roads, but there were enough side routes he could usually find alternative routes when necessary.

The house was large than either of them really wanted. "We can always close off the upper floor until we have company." Neither expected to be filling it with children and her father. George held true on his promise to be the Nanny. He had an in-law suite comprised of a bedroom, large bathroom, kitchen, eating area, and den. In true humble military fashion he mumbled, "A Quonset hut out back would have been fine."

Right now the twins slept in the same bedroom. In time they would separate. VC assured Tank Sarah would request the change as she matured. LIke Vassi, Sarah appeared to have a strong tomboy lean which delighted Vassi to no end. But she also had a feminine side thanks to her Aunt Stephanie. Whether trained by Steph or developed naturally, Sarah had her father, grandfather, and Rangeman uncles wrapped around her little finger.

Vassi watched Sarah overcome her father's instructions with a pout. "Dad, please tell me I wasn't that bad." George put his arm around his daughter, "No, you were worse."

As Tank drove up the driveway to the open garage he smiled. How did a solitary man with three cats end up here? Because you believed the Lord would help you find your true love again," he muttered. "He did and then some."

Before entering the house, Tank locked his weapons in the gun safe in the Service room just inside the garage. There were other weapons in the house in case of emergencies, but also kept in locked locations. Checking he was weapons free, he opened the door to be greeted by two four-year olds and two rambunctious Belgian Malinois pups. The later were to become future guard dogs.

"Papa!" came the calls as they rushed to his open arms. Each claimed a shoulder and he lifted both children with ease. His heart swelled with love he never thought he'd experience.

"Hmm, what smells so good," he said as he sniffed each child.

Sarah giggled, "Not us Papa. _Mere_ made pot-a-feu before she left for work. _GramPapa_ made fresh bread and we helped."

"Was this before or after ice skating?"

"Before."

George Christofondodoulous stepped into the kitchen. Long gone was the Army uniform. Today he was dressed in a thin wale corduroy trouser, wing shirt with a sweater over the top. "Dinner in one hour." George looked over his son-in-law for signs of stress that might indicated the need for an adult beverage. Tank was relaxed.

"What do you need."

Tank nodded, "I'm fine. I'm, we, are going to change clothes."

Still carrying the children and followed by the dogs, Tank went to the bedroom and set the children on the bed. Sitting down he began removing his boots, "So tell me about ice skating." As he shed his clothes, so he shed the day's tensions. He emerged from the dressing closet wearing dark woolen trousers, heavy wool shirt, and a big smile. Coming over to the bed, he began tickling the children. As they wiggled he rolled onto the bed so they could climb over him. The pups wanted into the play but were not allowed onto the bed. After cuddling with the children for a bit, he rose and said, "We need set the table for dinner."

" _Viens, les_ _chiens,"_ Raphael called to the dogs and dutifully dogs and children led the way. The three cats watched the progress from their high perches in the sun room. They were much more interesting in the birds outside the windows than the pups _._ Why did their human pollute their lives with other uprights, children and dogs? Still after the little humans were in bed and the pups napped, the three cats would find their way to their owner and curl around him as they had before.

-0-

Ranger stepped into Stephanie's office dressed in a lovely deep blue Italian suit and blue tone shirt and the tie nicely between two blue colors.

Stephanie looked up and smiled. Her eyes turned a deeper blue, "Yum." Ranger indeed looked luscious enough to eat.

"It's Friday, our night to go out for dinner."

She stood and removed her black cardigan sweater revealing a winter-modest but very form fitting blue-violet dress with just enough blue to highlight her eyes. Pearls with diamonds adorned her ears and neck.

She had previously changed from her Rangeman uniform. Though they owned a house near Tank and VC, they retained the seventh floor apartment for weekdays or when change of clothes was necessary.

Ranger wrapped the thick cashmere coat around her with a matching neck scarf. "I'd rather dress you in mink."

"Not Trenton style, my style, plus the animal rights people would target us."

"Gloves?"

"Here in my purse."

Ranger glanced down and noted she was carrying a deep blue Italian leather clutch purse. It was too small for her Glock, no doubt it held the small Sig. He didn't ask if she was armed, these days she was always armed.

"Not in the purse," she smiled after watching his eyes and perhaps reading his mind.

He looked her over carefully wondering exactly with what and where she was armed.

"You can frisk me later," she smiled. "Where are we going?"

"Dinner and dancing until dawn."

"Until dawn? I had other ideas, " she pouted but with a twinkle in her eye.

"I didn't say what type of dancing, did I?"

"Julie is back in school, so we have the house to ourselves."

He shook his head, "Thank heavens for the new college semester. I'm glad she chose Rutgers over Princeton otherwise I suspect she would be living with us full time."

"After this winter, she may decide to go back to Florida. I might join her," Stephanie said half jokingly.

As they left the fifth floor, Ranger turned back to VC, "We'll be at the house this weekend."

VC nodded. She hoped she wouldn't have to interfere with their weekend.

#


End file.
